Photographs in the Wind
by Shane C
Summary: I decided to try a fanfic challenge with 50 one-word prompts! They'll all be randomly placed throughout the series, but I'm going to do my best to keep everything IC and canon. As always, I'll love you if you review me! If you're into this sort of work, check out Arin's companion/competition piece, Snapshots in Other Flowing Air.
1. First Kiss

**Author's Note: **This is a 50 prompt challenge I decided to try. Unfortunately, I don't know who to give credit for the 50 prompts – I pulled them off of a random website with no one getting credit for them. Anyway, I'm going to try to keep everything under 400 words, but no promises. I'll do my best to not go over 500 at the most with any of them. Enjoy!

**#1 – First Kiss**

_Tobias_

The crunching, slurping sounds right below my tree in my meadow were what woke me up.

I looked down to see one of the human members of the Animorphs twisting and crawling out of the body of a Great Horned Owl. No wonder I hadn't woken up until they started demorphing – owls are totally silent. They're the ghosts of the bird kingdom.

As the blond hair emerged, I realized who it was. By the position of the moon, I assumed it was only a few hours before dawn – a midnight visit to my meadow wasn't exactly Rachel's M.O., especially when I'd just left from hanging out with her in her bedroom a few hours previous. (Hey Rachel, what's up?) I asked cautiously. Anything out of the ordinary is rarely a good thing, when you're an Animorph.

She waited the twenty seconds until she was fully human again to use her voice to answer me. "I don't know," she said, and she looked so confused that I actually laughed. Instinctively, I fluttered to the ground beside her and started my now-familiar human morph. She waited patiently until I was finished, then studied my human face in the pale moonlight. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she took in all the details; she kept it up long enough to where it started to freak me out.

"Rachel? Um, what is going on? Do you need anything?"

She didn't say anything. She cocked her head to the side, still studying my face. It startled me when she abruptly grabbed the back of my head and gently tilted her lips to mine. I had little experience with having lips anymore, not to mention none at all with kissing. My mind went blank, thankfully, and somehow, I knew what to do. My lips were moving against Rachel's in strange-but-satisfying ways. Our hands were everywhere, an involuntary side-effect of what we were doing. I felt the soft tip of her tongue graze my front teeth in a way that made me shudder.

After a moment, just as abruptly as it had started, Rachel pulled away. She looked into my eyes again and said, "I _did_ need something. That." She seemed to have more to say, but instead, she morphed to owl once more. I watched her fly away, still marveling. Maybe things weren't all that bad, after all.

**A/N: 397 words! Not a bad start, for the first one! As always, please let me know what you thought! Thank you!**


	2. Final

**#2 – Final**

_Marco_

I stared at the third question on the page blankly. '_How many countries fought with the Axis during WWII?_' A simple, straightforward question with one answer. Too bad I didn't know it.

I'd spent the night before "studying" for final exams before Christmas break. We'd had two skirmishes with the Yeerks that week, and I was feeling stretched a little thin. A little thin, as in if somebody farted too loud, I'd jump through the nearest window. My study session had consisted of me staring at the material I was supposed to learn, absorbing none of it, until I passed out from exhaustion.

I was already wondering which military school my dad was going to send me to for flunking when a thought-speech voice almost sent me jumping out of my desk. (The answer is nine. Nine countries fought with the Axis.) Ah, Tobias. Me and Tobias may not have been the closest of the Animorphs, but in that moment as I wrote down the number nine as my answer, I decided he was my favorite person on the planet. I wanted very badly to ask him how he knew it was right, but it didn't even matter; Tobias had a clue, I didn't. I was going to listen to him. He must have known what I was thinking, because he said, (I can read the cheat sheet the kid three rows over from you has out. When you're stuck on a question, draw a little star by it, and I'll tell you the answer.)

Miraculously, the system worked, and I walked out of the classroom feeling like a million bucks. Tobias had rescued me from certain doom. I felt the urge to thank him right then and there. I knew he was watching, so I jogged across the street, behind an old stand of trees.

Sure enough, Tobias perched ten feet above me shortly after I got there. "Dude, you saved my bacon back there," I told him, trying to infuse my tone with gratefulness.

(Yep,) he said, sounding satisfied. (I got your back – I'm doing the same for the others for the rest of the day, and tomorrow.)

"Why stop there?" I wondered out loud. "I mean, let's make this a weekly thing."

(That's about right,) Tobias said dryly as he spread his impressive wings and flew away. (You're welcome.)

"Thanks!" I yelled after him belatedly as he flew away, and I faintly heard his thought-speech chuckle in reply.

**A/N – These are fun! 411 words – not bad!**


	3. Numb

**#3 – Numb**

_Cassie_

It had finally happened. After months of lying to my parents, they'd finally busted me.

It was the most awful scene I could have ever imagined. I would have preferred to face down a pair of battle-hardened Hork-bajir…without being in morph.

I was sitting on our little living room loveseat. My parents, both wearing masks of utter astonishment and disappointment, sat on the couch across from me. I wanted to throw up. I felt…you know that Pink Floyd song, Comfortably Numb? I was the opposite. I was miserably numb.

My dad started, and his voice cracked twice. It made me want to sink into a hole and die. "Imagine my surprise, Cassie. I was woken up in the middle of the night by the park rangers, telling me they had a psychotic black bear loose in one of the parks. It sounded like a snakebite, and you know I need a hand on these big, unpredictable captures. I call Rachel's mom to ask her to wake you up so you can give me a hand, and she tells me that Rachel is supposed to be at our house, with you. Now, what am I supposed to think?"

"This just isn't _like _you, Cassie. I've never worried about this before. I've always trusted you – _and _Rachel. This is your chance to call this one a mulligan and keep that trust. If you tell your father and I what was so important that you had to lie to us, I'll do my best to forget this ever happened."

"I will, too," my dad promised. "We just want to have the same honest relationship with you we've always had. So, let's have it, young lady – what were you and Rachel doing last night?"

You have no idea how badly I wanted to tell them the truth. I wanted to tell them that Rachel and I had to take turns watching Jake, who had been infested by a Yeerk. We absolutely had no choice – if that Yeerk escaped with Jake's body, this war was over. This _world _was over.

My parents were waiting, and I decided it was time to cut my losses. Minimize the fallout. "I can't tell you that," I said as earnestly as I could. "I want to, but I _can't_. It's not my secret to tell."

My parents exchanged another look. My dad sighed. "Well, at least that's an honest answer. But it goes without saying that regardless of what you were doing with Rachel, you lied to us. You're…you're…" my dad got stuck. My mom helped him out.

"Grounded. Your father is trying to say you're grounded. Please, go to your room for now." The looks of disappointment haunted me all the way down the hall to my room, where I collapsed on my bed and cried. Fair? That word was officially out of the dictionary, as far as I was concerned.

**A/N – 483. Little too long, but whatever. Rules are overrated.**


	4. Broken Wings

**#4 – Broken Wings**

_Tobias_

Every time I thought I was just starting to acclimate to my new life as a hawk, something would happen that would make me reconsider.

Like this morning. It was a really nasty day for flying – all sorts of gusts and random cross-breezes that wanted to toss you around and mess with your balance. Luckily, I'd had a big meal the night before, so I was able to sit out the windstorm in my tree, waiting patiently for it to die down.

A Golden Eagle in my area hadn't been so lucky. He'd been almost directly over my meadow when a wicked wind sheer tossed him sideways. I watched as his graceful flight became an ungainly tumble, too fast to be controlled. (_Broken wing; game over,_) I thought to myself. A broken wing is a deal breaker when you're a bird of prey. It's a death sentence.

He hit the grass hard and bounced twice, but it wasn't enough to kill him. He immediately tried to straighten his wings and take flight, but his right one was snapped in two places. In desperation, he hopped to a fallen tree and tried to bury himself beneath the trunk.

I was torn. This would have been a gift from the gods to any other, normal red-tailed hawk. Golden Eagles are known to prey on smaller birds like hawks, so the fact that the tables had turned and a helpless predator was now at my mercy was, on the surface, a gift.

But I'm not just an ordinary hawk. I am the one bird in the world that a broken wing isn't a big deal to. I can just morph, and morph back, and presto! I'm fine. This beautiful, destitute creature didn't have that luxury.

It was in this moment that I had to choose. This was a situation where I could either be a hawk or a human. Kill or save? That's not a question many people have to ask themselves. I decided who and what I wanted to be. With a mental sigh, I lifted off of my branch to go find Cassie.


	5. Melody

**#5 – Melody**

_Jake_

Everybody escapes.

It's just the way it is. Everybody's got their own way of coping when things get rough. Some people drink or use drugs. Some people lose themselves in a good book, and others exercise. Me? My guilty pleasure is singing.

Don't get excited – I'm _terrible _at it. That's why I only do it when I'm home alone – I would never subject anyone else to it on purpose. That's why what happened on Saturday was so terrible.

My dad and mom had gone out early to run errands. Tom was off doing God-knows-what for the Sharing. We had no Animorphs business going on, and I found myself with some valuable free time.

I popped in my newest CD, which was still four months old, and plugged in my headphones. I zoned out to some websites as I shamelessly belted out the meaningful lyrics, and I tried to match the singer's ranging vocals. I knew I wasn't pulling it off, but it was fun just the same. I got lost, and the CD repeated itself. After the second play through of the second song, I got a funny feeling that something might be wrong. I turned around and stared in horror, ripping my headphones off and throwing them.

In my bedroom doorway stood my mom, Rachel…and, oh God…Cassie. Rachel looked as if she'd just witnessed an awful car crash – she was horrified and entertained at the same time. Cassie just looked surprised, like she hadn't ever considered the fact that I might like to sing along to my favorite CDs. My mom tried not to laugh, and was unsuccessful. With a snort, she covered her mouth. "I thought you sounded good, honey," she said, but she turned and ran before she could start laughing again.

"Wow, Jake." Rachel could not have looked like she was having a better time if she tried. "My diagnosis? Your melody bone is broken. Badly."

I hung my head as the blood rushed to my face. It was only a matter of time before Marco found out, and then I'd _really _never live it down. I fumbled over excuses. "I was just…you know, clearing my throat. I've had a sore throat, and singing helps it."

Cassie just smiled. "Of course it does, Jake. Of course it does."


	6. Rules

**#6 – Rules**

_Rachel_

For the third time in as many weeks, I sat in the reception area of Chapman's office, waiting for him to arrive to punish me. I was late. Again.

It's not like I didn't have bigger things to deal with. It was because of those bigger things that I was constantly late to school. Try waking up for first period when you've only fallen asleep an hour before, because you couldn't get the image of a Hork-bajir slicing off your best friend's leg out of your head. Try it, I dare you. Good luck.

Chapman blew into the office, shaking the rain off of his overcoat and getting situated. He said hurried hellos to everyone before noticing that I was sitting in the chair beside his office's door. "Again, Rachel?" he asked me, sounding disappointed. He unlocked his door and gestured for me to go inside.

Once I was seated, he took his desk. "What is this, the second time this month?" he asked me, and I nodded. If he didn't know this made three times in three weeks, I sure wasn't going to point it out. He sighed. "I've been letting you off easy, Rachel, but this has to stop. I know you're friends with Melissa, but I'm eventually going to have to do something to you in order to set an example."

I wanted to yell at him when he said that. I wanted to say, "Hey, guess what? Melissa and I _aren't _friends anymore. Wanna know why? Because of _you, _and _your _disgusting friends trying to take over my planet. That's right, slug. I know all about you."

What I _actually _said was slightly less confrontational, but I was still annoyed – it was not the right thing to say to a vice principal who's contemplating your fate. I couldn't help it. "I'm here before you," I pointed out. "And they're paying _you_ to be here."

Chapman looked at me in surprise for a moment…then unexpectedly, he belted out a laugh. It got harder, and after a moment, he was clutching his stomach, laughing. I don't know what the hell about my comment struck this Yeerk's funnybone, but he was wiping tears from Chapman's eyes as he wound down from his violent laughing spell. "Oh…oh, my, Rachel, I'm sorry. That was just…anyway." He tried to look stern, but his eyes were still puffy from laughing. "What you said is true. I must do a better job of practicing the rules of this establishment, just as you must. This will be your last warning; next time, it's a week of detention." He scribbled out a quick note and handed it to me. "Hurry to class."

'_Follow the rules,_' I thought sardonically as I walked to class. '_Rule number one, jerk – don't impersonate a human unless you want a major beat-down._' I imagined myself saying it to Chapman, and I smiled as the thought took my day from crappy to okay.


	7. Chocolate

**#7 – Chocolate**

_Marco_

I'd never had a reason to consider it, before, but now I was sure – I _hate _Valentine's Day.

I spent the whole day at school watching people trade little gifts, hugs, kisses…it was enough to make me sick. I probably wouldn't have cared, if it hadn't reminded me just how much of a damper this whole Yeerk invasion thing had put on my love life.

Toward the end of the day, before the last bell, I gave up the hope that some random girl with a crush on me was going to sneak me a card. Or a hug. _Something. _I resigned myself to an afternoon of harsh music, violent video games, and drawn shades. The bell rang, and I moped toward my bus. I didn't _want _to be bummed out by something as stupid as a pointless holiday…I just couldn't help it.

I had actually set my foot on the first step to board the bus when I felt a gentle tug on my backpack. I turned around, wondering how my day could get just a little bit worse before I escaped to my apartment. Cassie stood there, looking kind of sheepish. I was surprised – we normally made it a point to ignore each other as much as possible at school, so no one would ever get suspicious that we were a group. "Oh!" I looked around. Nobody was paying attention, but you can never be sure. "Cassie, right?" I said, and she rolled her eyes a little.

"Here," she said, handing me a little heart-shaped box. "Happy Valentine's Day, Marco."

I was stunned speechless, and I promise that doesn't happen very often. I stuttered for a minute, considering what it meant that Cassie had thought of _me _when she had her own boyfriend to worry about on Valentine's Day. "Well…thanks, Cassie. This means…well, you know…it means a lot…"

Cassie grinned. "Jeez, Marco, don't get so sentimental. It's just chocolate." She walked off toward her own bus. I got on mine and took the little seat at the back, so no one would sit with me. I fingered the box of chocolate, and slowly, a smile spread. Maybe I didn't have a girlfriend. Maybe my love life was non-existent. That didn't mean that people didn't care about me, though.

I grinned all the way home, my plans for going into depressing solitude forgotten.


	8. Nostalgia

**#8 – Nostalgia**

_Tobias_

Sometimes, being an Animorph and a hawk at the same time means I'm ridiculously busy. Other times, when there's nothing going on with the Yeerks, it means I don't have enough to fill my time.

I kind of drifted from place to place, not really paying attention to where I was going. I ended up coasting over the school. I don't know why – maybe because that's where my only friends were. Maybe because that was where I _should _have been, too, in a normal world. I looked through the classroom windows for the others, just for something to do. Cassie was studiously taking notes in her class. Jake was sleeping on his desk so hard that the puddle of drool on his history book could have been upgraded to a minor lake, or a pond, at least. Marco had his class' attention, describing something with spastic, jerky motions that kept making the other kids laugh.

I saved Rachel for last. I always felt creepy when I watched Rachel, especially when she didn't know I was doing it. It's not like I was spying on her; believe me, I'd have much rather been able to tap her on the shoulder and sit down to hang out with her. The closest I could get was watching her while she sat in class, bored out of her skull.

It was almost like the world was teasing me – the desk beside Rachel was empty, and I wanted to be a human and sit in it so badly that it physically hurt. Not that I'd been crazy about school, before, but…I can't explain it. I just wanted to sit in that desk more than I wanted anything else in the world.

I wheeled away from the school, done torturing myself for the day. (_Idiot,_) I told myself mildly. (_Teenagers aren't supposed to get nostalgic. Not even half-hawk teenagers._) I hurriedly started scanning the fields, searching for a meal. Slipping into hawk mode when things got tough was becoming a specialty of mine.


	9. Heartbeat

**#9 – Heartbeat**

_Cassie_

Jake and I huddled inside of a small shed on the edge of the Yeerk pool. We'd managed to get inside and demorph before we could pass the two hour mark, but we weren't out of the woods, yet. Right now, we were just hiding, the two of us trying to be as small as possible behind a shelf full of, out of all things, brand-new car batteries.

Just because we were hiding didn't make us safe. The Yeerks were looking. I was doing my best to slow my breathing, to relax and catch my breath. Jake was, too; marathon morphing is the most tiring thing in the world, and you don't want to start a morph you're not sure you can finish. It'll never end up good.

As much danger as we were in, a random thought shot through my mind. '_You do realize this is the closest you've ever been to Jake, right?_' I tensed a little as I had the thought, and Jake didn't miss it. His response was to lightly tighten his grip around me.

He misunderstood the reason behind my sudden tensing. "Don't worry, Cass – I _will _get you out of here." His tone was pure confidence. "I promise." His bold words were contradicted by the way his heartbeat fluttered. It beat so hard that it seemed like it was trying to leave his chest and enter my back. He was scared, though he'd never consciously let me know that.

Despite that, I knew he'd keep his word. Jake would always keep his word to me, or he'd die trying – that's just the sort of guy he is. "I know," I whispered back. I took a quick self-inventory and decided I was ready to try morphing again, and I said so.

"Okay," Jake whispered, his brown eyes lightening around a pupil that was changing shape into that of a Siberian tiger's. "No, no," he said as the first traces of wolf began to assert themselves over my own features. "Go osprey. Then I want you to get out while I've got them distracted." I guess he could see an argument coming, and that's because I _was _going to argue. "I'll be useless if I'm worried about you, Cass. Please? We'll stand a better chance if I know you're safe."

I sighed. I hated it, but Jake was the leader. And if he said it was easier and safer for him if I escaped, leaving him in danger…well, I'd have to trust him. I always would – trust Jake, that is.


	10. Stranger

**#10 – Stranger**

_**Many humans congregate at the indoor market called "the mall." This place is the vortex of all human illogic; they contradict themselves at every turn without even realizing it. **_

_- From the Earth Journal of Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill_

_Ax_

When Rachel discovered that I had torn, soiled, or otherwise destroyed all of the human clothing I possessed, she insisted upon taking me to the mall to buy me more. Humans are very obsessive about clothing – they are not allowed to go without it. It is even a punishable law, in most advanced nations on Earth.

She browsed through the different shops, looking at different items of clothing. One store in particular bothered me, and is the perfect demonstration of how illogical human beings are. "Rachel. You say I need new clothes. Nu-ew-ooh. But the blue leggings you are admiring have more holes than the ones we are replacing." All of a sudden, I thought I understood. "Ah! You must buy the destroyed leggings at a discount, and then you can use them to repair your original leggings. Eggings. Egg."

She laughed. "Nope. That's just a style."

"So the leggings with holes are desirable to humans?" I had seen other humans wearing the torn leggings, of course, but I had assumed that they were the destitute ones, the humans who could not afford to purchase better leggings. "If ripped clothing is acceptable, then why must I collect more?"

Rachel shrugged and she took a few items toward the back of the store. "Because you're my friend, and I refuse to let you look like a bum." She stopped outside of a doorway; I peered through, and saw rows of other doors beyond it. "I'm going to try these on," she indicated the clothing in her hands. "I'll only be a minute – stand right here. Do not move. Do not talk to strangers."

"Strangers?" I asked. The word is uniquely human – I thought I understood the meaning, but it sounded so…_foreboding_. "Are they hazardous?"

She nodded. "Very much so. Strangers are hazardous – remember that. And don't talk to them."

"Every human is a stranger to me," I pointed out.

She grinned. "That's kind of my point. Don't talk to _anybody._" She disappeared behind one of the tiny doors which was behind one of the bigger doors. Humans are fond of doors to cover their openings. I believe this is because they cherish the concept of privacy.

"May I help you?" said a voice at my shoulder. I whirled around, startled – a young human female wearing a communicator headset smiled at me.

I did not reply; Rachel's instructions had been clear. When I simply continued to look at the girl, her smile fell. "Sir? Are you okay? Can I help you?"

"I am not allowed to talk to you, stranger," I told her politely. "There may be danger. Dane. Strain…oh, they rhyme!" I shouted; I _loved _discovering combinations of words that sounded so similar. "Stranger danger! Stray-day-en-ger!"

The young human was backing away slowly, looking frightened. "Do not be afraid, stranger," I said kindly. "I am merely making rhyme-sounds."

Rachel appeared, looking flustered, and started hauling me out of the shop. "Don't worry about him…he's got Tourette's. He can't help it," she apologized to the store clerk. The store clerk said a word into her communicator which I also liked. I repeated it as Rachel hurried me away from the scene.

"Security? Cure-itee."


	11. Lies

**#11 – Lies**

_Rachel_

I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the visual of the nightmare. It wasn't easy, because the nightmare was a replay of something that had actually happened – almost being beheaded by a Hork-bajir's elbow blade. I was in grizzly morph at the time, but it's still not something you can forget. Not something even I can just shake off.

I shut off the water and just kind of rested my forehead on the cool bathroom counter for a minute. It helped to ease the throbbing there, and thankfully, the phantom feeling of having my head partially separated from my shoulders was fading.

"Rachel?" came a concerned voice from behind me. I was too drained to even be startled; I turned slowly to see my younger sister, Jordan. I mean, she was two years younger than me, but I didn't underestimate her because of that. She was the same age that _I _was when I met Prince Elfangor and started fighting the Yeerks. Kids are tougher than people give them credit for.

She studied me with piercing concern. I did my best to give her a reassuring smile. "I'm cool. Did I wake you?"

She shook her head. "Not this time. I was already up." She seemed to hesitate over what she wanted to say next, then went ahead anyway. "More nights than not, you're up like clockwork at around half past three – throwing up, sometimes…sometimes just to splash your face. I notice. I guess I'm kind of programmed to wake up with you now."

I felt awful, disgusted with myself. I was fighting so hard to protect my family, and little Jordan was suffering because of my problems, anyway. I hugged her tight. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I just have nightmares, you know? It's not a huge deal, and I wish I hadn't been waking you up with them."

I felt her stiffen a little bit and I let her go. She looked at me again, now sad. "I'm not stupid, Rachel. I know something is up with you. I see how you look sometimes – jumpy. Scared. That's not like you. It makes me scared for you." She chewed her lip. "Please tell me what it is. I want to help."

I wanted to cry, but I forced a confident, cocky grin on my face. "You're crazy. But if there was something wrong, you'd be the first to know. I know you have my back." She frowned a little and shook her head, like she knew I was weaseling, and went back to bed. I sighed heavily before going back to bed, myself.

I _hate _lying. '_When this whole Yeerk thing is over, lies are going to be completely eliminated from my life_,' I solemnly promised myself before rolling over to try to sleep.


	12. Gone

**#12 – Gone**

_Marco_

Tobias, on his never-ending quest to show all of us up, was the one who'd found the submerged Yeerk refueling station.

It was only about a mile off of the coast. The roof of the two story complex stopped about ten feet below the surface of the ocean. Like everything else the Yeerks used, it was protected by holographic camouflage.

It was easy enough, once we knew where it was, to scope it out and realize that we could do some damage at relatively no risk. There were only two Bug fighters present, and only two human-controller mechanics in the little station. We waited until they were asleep, and we crammed into the airlock in dolphin morph. Except Ax, in his tiger shark morph. He managed to drain the airlock via thought-speech commands, and we all went into battle morphs.

The idea was to trash the place and get out, a quick, guerilla-style hit we were getting good at. We had gotten cocky, thought we had it all figured out. None of us had spotted the narrow elevator in the corner of the garage. Rachel, being Rachel, charged ahead of the rest of us. As soon as she left the airlock, an alarm started going off. (God dang it…All right! I guess we're going in, now!) Jake shouted in frustration, charging in after her. We all did. We barely had time to start wrecking the sophisticated-looking equipment when the little, neglected elevator opened up.

It was a drop shaft, a sort of Yeerk anti-gravity elevator. And what was currently pouring out of it at an alarming rate of speed were Hork-bajir, about a half dozen of them. Almost as an afterthought, two humans armed with gigantic rifles emerged after them.

Rachel, in her beloved elephant morph, went right after them as soon as she saw them. I'm guessing she didn't spot the humans with their ungodly rifles leveled at her. The first guy fired, letting loose a blast that both deafened me and knocked him backward. I saw in slow motion as the bullet made contact with Rachel's enormous head. I'd seen bullets bounce off of that massive skull before.

Not this time. This bullet meant business. It was messy, and Rachel collapsed to the floor, shaking it with her mass. '_She's gone, she's finally gone,_' some unknown, masochistic part of my mind taunted me. '_You always knew it would be her, she was always too reckless. Now you have to go to her funeral, one with no body. Just like your -_'

'_Shut up,_' I coldly told myself like a crazy person as I went to check on Rachel. I knew what I'd find, but I had to check. Around me, my friends were battling the Yeerk forces. I noticed distractedly that they were winning; like I said, we were getting good.

As I looked at the wound, I saw that it was gruesome, but maybe not fatal. I could see bone through the hole, sure, but no brain matter. Sudden hope surged through me. (Rachel! Can you hear me?) I shouted as loud as I could directly into her head.

(Huh..ow..wha?) was the response. But her massive body stirred. (Demorph!) I yelled, all of a sudden giddy. I hadn't realized until that moment how much I actually dreaded and feared losing one of my friends. I joined the battle with them. We couldn't let Rachel demorph in front of them and let them survive…but we wouldn't. We'd do anything to keep our own safe.


	13. Insanity

**#13 – Insanity**

"_**Insanity is often the logic of an accurate mind overtasked." – Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.**_

_Marco_

While I was trying my best to get through some homework late one night, I found that quote in the back of my history book.

You know how sometimes things just speak to you? Like, every now and then, you'll see some random piece of graffiti on the sidewalk that contains the name of the person you were just thinking about? Or, just when you're wondering what that old cousin you haven't seen in forever is up to, you find an old birthday card from them at the bottom of your drawer? Well, some things have happened to me that lead me to believe that these little "coincidences" aren't coincidences at all. Maybe, just maybe, there's somebody or something behind it.

That quote jumped out of my copy of American History: A Revolutionary Perspective as if it was painted there in neon. It was worded funny, so I had to read it about three times before my mind grabbed ahold of the concept this Oliver Wendell Holmes guy was trying to get across. Once I did, it was like a revelation. You know, taking for granted the fact that a revelation can come to you through somebody else's words.

I often teased my friends that we were going insane. Maybe I overused the "joke" a little much, but it applied to almost every situation we found ourselves in. Nobody ever contradicted me when I commented that we were all out of our freaking minds for whatever the next suicidal plan was. I guess I joke a lot about being crazy because the simple fact is that I'm scared of it. I'm worried that people can't see and do the things that I do and remain sane. Most days, I'm scared that I'm going crazy, and I'm even more terrified that _there's nothing I can do about it._

What this Holmes guy was trying to say is that insanity is a temporary condition, while most people think of it as some sort of lifelong disease. Holmes was under the impression that all insanity is is the kind of thinking your brain produces when it's got way too much on its plate. Like, insanity isn't something to fear, just something that everybody has to suffer through, at times.

What a relief. I really, really liked that theory – it meant there was a chance I could go back to normal when this crap was all over with. While I still had a little of that relief lingering in my system, I said heck with homework and decided to try to use it to get a decent night's sleep.


	14. Underneath

**#14 – Underneath**

_Tobias_

I gripped the rough bark of my perch as lightly as I could without falling off. My wings were at what I liked to think of as "half-cocked;" like a hunter putting slight pressure on the trigger of a gun, my wings were partially extended, ready to go out all the way in order to catch enough air to lift me quietly off of the branch. All I needed to do was acquire a target. Once I did that, I'd shoot.

A moment later, I saw a tell-tale twitch of tall grass. The blade moved in the wrong direction for the wind to have done it. I waited until I saw a second, similar twitch of grass a foot away from the first, then I lifted off oh-so-gently.

Those two little twitches of grass had been all I needed. I could tell from the way they'd moved that it was a big mouse underneath them. I knew which direction he was heading. I hadn't seen the actual mouse at all, but I didn't need to. Not yet.

I closed in on where I knew he would be. I saw it in my mind's eye. I lost altitude rapidly as I zoned in on the strike point – the place where I knew I'd find my target.

We saw each other at the same time, hawk and mouse, mouse and hawk. He let out a tiny screech of terror and took off running as my shadow blotted out the sun, but that was okay, too. The grass had told me which direction he'd been heading, so I knew which way he'd be facing when I found him. I knew he wouldn't take the time to turn, that he'd simply bolt in the direction he was already pointed.

I subconsciously calculated his speed against mine, aimed at a patch of ground six feet ahead of him, and pulled the trigger. I even heard the _boom _of the bullet as my talons (my bullet) struck home, squeezing the place where the back of his head met his body. It was a clean, painless, efficient kill.

As I started to feed, I felt the old double-pleasure – the human pleasure of a job well done and the hawk's contentment at attaining his next meal.

At this moment, more than any other, I was at peace with my fate.


	15. Return

**#15 – Return**

_Ax_

(Aximili-Kala,) my father beamed proudly at me as I stepped off of the transport ship, onto the familiar grass of my home scoop. With my first step, the leathery texture of the home world grass under my hoof was enough to let me know I was off of Earth and finally home.

My father approached me with his tail blade flat against his back, a sign of respect for warriors returning home. My mother waited just behind him, giving him the chance to greet me privately, as was his right. When he was in front of me, he bent his front legs and bowed. (I am so glad to have you home, my son.)

His thought-speech voice was choked with emotion. I didn't want to speak right away, because I knew my voice would be even weaker. I had to, though. Part of it was the ritual. Part of it was that I had wanted to see my father for so very long. I had always wondered if he'd be as proud of me as he was of Elfangor. Now I knew. The bow was enough to tell me that he was proud of his youngest son.

(Father, I have returned,) I said as strongly as I could manage. I gripped his upper arm and gently guided him up and out of his bow. (I have been victorious, and I have brought honor to my family and my home.)

My mother quietly trotted up to us, vicious pride and triumph shining in her main eyes. (My son,) she said emotionally, placing her hand on my neck.

_SCREE_! The sound of a dying rodent a dozen feet from where I slept jerked me out of my dream. I settled back on my haunches, wanting to return to the dream, but it never does work like that. I sighed, resigned to the fact I would be awake for the rest of the night, now. And if I couldn't sleep and dream of home, I would do the next best thing.

I ran, crushing the fragile Earth grass under my hooves as I did. Even though it had just been a dream, I tried to hold on to the feeling of my parents being proud of me.

If I ever got home, I hoped the scene of my return would be half as good as the dream.


	16. Neighbor

**#16 – Neighbor**

_Rachel_

Another nightmare. I was sitting up in my bed, drenched in sweat and trying to calm down the shakes from the adrenaline. It's a pretty powerful nightmare that can get your adrenaline going.

All of a sudden, my room felt totally claustrophobic. I considered going for a quick flight around the neighborhood to clear my mind, but I realized it was about an hour before my mom would be waking up. That would be all I needed – to have her look in on me and find me missing.

I still had to get out of the room, though. I crept through the house and into the backyard. The night air was cool and the sky was cloudless. The sweat started drying on my skin and the feeling of being trapped evaporated with it.

I sat down on my swing. You know how it is – I hadn't swung in years, but it was still my swing. My sisters used the other two, but never mine. Probably had something to do with the fact that I'd conditioned them to stay off of it or risk torture when they were still really small. I smiled at the memory and just swung back and forth on the creaky, rusty thing.

I guess the sound attracted my neighbor. "Psst!" he whispered, and I looked up, startled. He was grinning, just his head visible over the privacy fences in between our yards.

He was a young guy, really cool. He had a pool, and he had made it clear that my sisters and I were always allowed to hop his fence and swim in it anytime we wanted, whether he was home or not. A real decent guy.

His hair was wet, so I guessed he'd been doing some early morning laps before he went off to his job or whatever. I walked over to the fence.

"Hey, Rick," I said, trying to sound like nothing was wrong.

"Oh no, you don't," he said, still smiling. "Don't act like everything's okay. Nobody goes to sit on their old swing set at 4:30 AM if everything's cool." He took a second to look concerned. "So what's up? You can trust me – I won't rat you out."

The thing was, I _did _trust him. Like I said, he'd always been a really nice guy. I guess if I were going to tell somebody about my problems, it would be some random person like my neighbor. People you don't know intimately have a way of making you feel more at ease, dumping your problems on them. I guess that's why people don't go therapy with professionals that they know in real life.

At the same time, it went without saying that I _couldn't _trust him. He was probably totally normal. Probably not a controller, host to some Yeerk. Probably. Could never take the risk, though. The thought bummed me out, but I didn't let him see it.

"I _am _cool. Just bad dreams," I told him.

His grin returned. "Well, don't take it so hard. They're just dreams, you know." He disappeared, and I heard a splash as he got back into his pool.

'_Just dreams,_' I repeated to myself, then chuckled sadly. '_If only, Rick. If only._'

**A/N – **This one ran a little long, but I don't care if you don't. Thanks, Sweetbriar and Chiroptera for the reviews. Please keep it up, and the rest of you should, too! Thanks!


	17. Piggybank

**#17 – Piggybank**

_Rachel_

I stood in the playroom at my house, indecisive. It was really the extra bedroom, but we called it the playroom because that was where all the toys were kept. Sara still played in it, but me and Jordan were too old. We mainly used it as a storage room for all of the crap that wouldn't fit in our bedrooms.

The object of my indecision was sitting on a dresser. It was the giant, porcelain, pink piggybank that myself and my sisters had been putting our loose change in for our entire lives. It was the kind without an opening, except for the slot at the top – I guess so you had to break it to get to the contents. Apparently, the idea was that you had better be sure it was worth it before destroying the bank.

I picked it up and weighed it in my hands – heavy. Real heavy. I estimated there was probably well over a hundred dollars in it. We – the Animorphs – _needed _that money. We were all tapped out, and my dad had just called yesterday to remind me about cutting back on the non-essentials I'd been putting on the credit card he'd given me.

Ax wanted to try calling his homeworld again, but he needed components to try to build the new Z-space transponder. Funny thing was, we actually had the alien parts we needed – stolen from a Bug fighter. That's a story for another time.

Anyway, now we needed the human parts. All in, we only needed about sixty bucks to buy them…but like I said, we were all tapped out. I had really wanted this one to work out, too. Things were boiling over with the Yeerks. We needed help. We needed the Andalites.

'_You're debating the fate of the world against the morality of breaking open your piggybank,_' I tried to laugh at myself, but it wasn't funny. Sure, most of the money in it was mine, since I was the oldest. That wasn't the point. The point was that I'd be stealing from my sisters if I took it.

'_Marco would take it,_' a part of my brain said. Another part said, '_Is that supposed to convince me to do it? If anything, that means I probably _shouldn't.'

I don't know how long I stood in that room, thinking it over. All I know is that when I left it, I did so without the piggybank. Because, no matter what, if the Yeerks made me compromise who I was in order to win, I'd already lost.

I'd get the money some other way.


	18. Beautiful

**#18 – Beautiful**

_Cassie_

When the Wildlife Rehabilitation Center was full – when business was booming, as my dad always put it – little things around the house always got neglected. My mom didn't even bother griping about it anymore. She knew what my dad's first priority was, because it was hers, too. The welfare of helpless animals would always come before doing the dishes or cutting the grass.

I woke up to the sound of the mower early Saturday morning, which was weird. My dad had said he was leaving with the sunrise to pick up a few rescued animals the Forestry Service was holding in the next county over.

I got up and peeked through my blinds, and my surprise deepened. It was Jake out there, pushing my dad's rusty old gas-guzzler of a mower across the shaggy front lawn. I guess he'd seen that it needed cut; instead of asking if he could help, he just took it upon himself to get out there and do it. I felt my heart flutter a little. He was such a good guy, in every way.

I watched him cut for a while until I started to feel like a creep. I didn't feel exactly right watching him without his knowledge, but it didn't exactly feel _wrong_, either. I loved him for using what little available free time he had to help my folks out. The fact that he hadn't told me he was going to do it made it even more special. He wasn't looking for anything in return, he just wanted to help.

Once I was able to pull my eyes away from him, I went downstairs to get him a glass of lemonade or something. I couldn't get the stupid grin off of my face. When I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I saw my mom, staring out through the kitchen window. She was watching him, too.

"Cassie? Did you ask Jake to mow the lawn?" she asked without turning around.

"No, mom. I guess he just saw that it needed done. That's… Jake." I was able to stop myself before I said, "That's _my _Jake."

She turned, and she had a smile identical to mine on her face. She looked me right in the eye and said, "Don't ever let him go. That boy has a beautiful soul."

As I poured the lemonade, I said, "You're right. He sure does."


	19. Zoo

**#19 – Zoo**

_Marco_

Since meeting Elfangor in the construction site six months ago, my life has changed dramatically. Obviously. But more than that, _I've_ changed, and I ain't just talking about morphing.

I see things, now. Things I didn't see before. It's how I saved lives at school on Monday. Not from Yeerks, not from Crayak…just from a regular old human psycho.

I was in the courtyard, waiting for the first class of the day to start. I wasn't paying special attention to anything. I just had my eyes open, as usual. Second nature to me now to scan for danger, even in a "safe" place.

I spotted the kid sneaking in through a weak point in the fence. His name was Brian, and he was just this dude I thought of as kind of awkward and weird. He was a "good" kid, though, so that's why I paid attention – why was he creeping through the chain link instead of just going through security? Weird.

The second thing I noticed was his expression. Every kid in the courtyard wore one of three expressions – happy, if they were with their friends, depressed, or sleepy. I was a combo of the last two, myself.

Not Brian. He looked…determined. That was the only word for it. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were actively scanning the crowd.

Security didn't notice him. Why should they? They were just fat, lazy guys doing a job they probably hated. But I noticed him. I noticed the way he almost limped, not moving his right leg as much when he walked. That drew my eye. When I focused, I saw it – a lump at his hip, under his jacket. A gun.

By this point I was already walking to the two security guards. I didn't trust them to be able to handle anything, but I couldn't morph in the courtyard. I didn't know what Brian planned to do with that gun, but I wasn't going to wait around to find out. I grabbed the nearest rent-a-cop's arm and said, "Kid in the overcoat at seven o'clock. He's packing heat."

The cop almost gave us both away with the way his head snapped up and stared. "Idiot!" I hissed. "Easy, now! If he knows you know, he's liable to start popping off. Just go take him. Quietly."

The cop was so surprised, he didn't even question being talked down to by a freshman. "John, we got a seven-seven," he said to his partner. They casually fell into step behind Brian. I waited long enough for them to snatch him up, and I saw the one called John reach into his coat and quickly and quietly disarm him. Good. At least the guards weren't _totally _useless. I faded into the crowd, hoping the guard would want to take all of the credit and not tell Chapman or anybody else about my involvement. The Yeerks might wonder about an overly-observant fourteen year old first thing in the morning.

Had I really been one of these sheep six months ago, where I wouldn't even notice a gunman on a mission? Probably. I shook my head, almost thankful for my "awakening." The rest of them…they were like animals who'd grown up in a zoo, suddenly set free into the wild.

No _wonder_ they didn't notice the Yeerks taking over.


	20. New Song

**#20 – New Song**

_Rachel_

I wanted to keep my window open, in case he came over tonight. If he did, he could always just ask me to open the window in thought-speech, and I would. There was a chance that he'd take the closed window as a sign that I didn't want company, though. Maybe more than a chance. He was so thoughtful, so sensitive to everyone else's feelings. Probably more to mine than anyone's.

The wind driving the sheets of rain into my bedroom made leaving it open impossible, though. The carpet already squished between my toes as I walked over to close it. As I did, I spotted the old toy poking out of my closet and smiled.

I quickly spelled the message out using the colored pegs. Just one word, like you see outside of hotels looking for guests – 'Vacancy.' I put the Light Brite on the window sill and plugged it in. Tobias would get a kick out of the subtle message. I thought the humor of it would cancel out any doubt that the closed window might instill.

I got under the covers and flipped on the TV, but I didn't watch. Again, this was just for Tobias – he'd be more likely to ask to come in if he thought I was awake. I hugged my big body pillow and closed my eyes, but I kept seeing him. The way his eyes had shined bright and triumphant after I'd kissed him for the first time. As I remembered that, I remembered the fire that had gone through my own body. That feeling of something new, different, exciting. Now the fire burned slow, smoldered. It was waiting for Tobias to come and throw some dry brush on it so it could explode again.

I thought I'd understood my feelings for Tobias before the kiss. Now I realized it was like I'd only splashed around in the shallow part of a very deep ocean. The kiss had unlocked a part of _us _that I hadn't even suspected existed. It turned Tobias into a song that I couldn't get out of my head. More than that, it was like he was the only song I knew anymore.

At least it was a beautiful song. I cracked my eyes to make sure my sign was still working. I could see the word reflected backward in the glass. Satisfied, I let myself drift off, still thinking of my new song.


	21. Inspiration

**A/N – **If my timeline of pop culture is off for the series – and I recognize that it is, sometimes – please forgive it and try to read past it. I don't want to listen to Korn or Nirvana or other bands that were popular in the late 90s all the time when I'm writing these :P

**#21 – Inspiration**

_Tobias_

I consider my meadow my home. It is, for all intents and purposes. It provides me with food and shelter. But I guess humans get a lot more than that from their homes – entertainment is a big part of what it means to be human. It's where Marco gets the inspiration for his jokes. Jake gets a lot of his from the internet; sometimes, when I visit him, he's online, reading up on famous leaders in history. You know, Napoleon, Patton, guys like that. Sometimes, he "relaxes" by watching older flicks. I've watched most of _Tombstone _with him, and I've caught some of other movies. He seems to favor westerns featuring famous lawmen, or tales of heroes in the more recent wars. It makes sense. Jake doesn't see himself as a hero – I promise you that. It's more like he watches them to remind him what he's supposed to be like, how he's supposed to think.

There's not much entertainment to be found in my meadow. Ax kind of provides that for me – he's become an enthusiastic student of the human race, and most of what he studies comes from pop culture. He gets bored with movies, but TV shows are shorter and able to keep his attention. He's also giving music a try – he claims all human music is terrible, but he likes to decipher the lyrics. A lot of times, he asks for my help. I don't mind, because trying to explain them helps me figure them out. And some of them inspire me.

Most of his collection comes from Marco – Marco passes along his older CDs when he gets tired of them. Most of them, music-wise, hit my ear all wrong, and I understand why Ax doesn't enjoy it. But there are always hidden gems in the words, regardless of whether they're whined or screamed or whatever.

(I understand the meaning of the phrase, but I do not understand the context. It seems like this human is screeching about romantic love, but then an out-of-place phrase will interject itself.) Ax seemed to think about it. (Oh! Is that the point? Is he trying to tell two stories simultaneously?)

I didn't laugh, even though it was funny. Ax always jumps to the most logical conclusion, never realizing that logic rarely has anything to do with being human. (No. He's trying to make his point by way of a metaphor.)

Ax's main eyes narrowed. (Ah. A metaphor. A creative way for humans to misunderstand each other.)

This time, I _did _laugh. (That's one way to look at it, I guess. What lyrics are you talking about, exactly?)

He rewound the CD and played the part in question. (You see? He seems to be discussing a relationship…using many "metaphors," of course. But then, out of nowhere, he says, "Move like a fugitive tonight." Being a fugitive is a negative thing – why would he ask his female companion to do this?)

It was a fair question. I thought about it before replying, (Well, I think he's not talking about one girl in particular. I think he's referring to the sneaky nature of girls in relationships. Not that I'd know,) I added, almost to myself.

Ax shook his head and ejected the CD from the player. (I like trying to figure out the differences in what humans sing and what they mean. But this group uses too many metaphors to keep up with.) He looked at the CD thoughtfully with his stalk eyes. (I am of the opinion that this particular human songwriter is not even sure what he is talking about. Maybe he is simply what we call a _Salander _– someone who uses high level language, grammar, and wordings in an attempt to confuse instead of explain. Perhaps he is not really saying anything. Maybe he only wants to _appear _deep and meaningful.)

The insight blasted me. It was so simple, but so logical. (It is a tale told by an idiot – full of sound and fury, signifying nothing,) I muttered, remembering the only line of prose from Shakespeare that I had memorized. It caught Ax's attention.

(Yes! From your tone, that is a quote from another famous human, no?) I agreed. Ax looked at me eagerly. (I would hear more about _that _human. He sounds…very…Andalite.) I laughed, and started to tell him everything I knew about William Shakespeare.


	22. Barefoot

**#22 – Barefoot**

_Rachel_

I got up for school and went through my closet, looking for a pair of tennis shoes. I searched for about two full minutes before I realized I'd shredded my last pair the weekend before. A sudden morph to African Elephant will do that. I checked the thermometer outside of my window – forty-four degrees. Ugh. I thought about wearing socks with a pair of sandals, but decided I'd rather lose my toes to frostbite than commit that fashion faux pas.

My mom was slurping her coffee, balancing her briefcase and keys in her other hand. Before she could run out the door, I said, "Hey, mom. I have to go to the mall after school for some new shoes. I'm going to use the credit card, okay?"

She stopped rushing around long enough to give me a sideways look. "You're spending money faster than I can make it, Rachel." She set her briefcase down on the kitchen island and I sighed, knowing I was about to get a lecture. "Look, you're fifteen, now. I think it's time you start making your own money, at least for frivolous stuff like new shoes every other week."

"I'm not old enough to get a job," I pointed out, dreading the day I turned sixteen and no longer had that particular argument working for me. I have nothing against work – I just didn't have the time. Fighting the Yeerks kind of cuts into free time, you know?

"I thought you might say that," she sighed right back. "Luckily, your uncle Steve has an opening at his office for an assistant."

"Really?" I said noncommittally. That was inconvenient. Hard to argue against a job offer from your uncle when you claim to need money. "Why wasn't Jake offered the job? I mean, it's his dad." I knew why, of course, but I had to play it out.

My mom scrunched up her face like she smelled something nasty. "Apparently, your cousins Jake and Tom are too busy to be bothered with something as silly as helping out their own father. But that doesn't matter – it puts you in a good position." She slugged down the rest of her coffee and picked up her briefcase. "So, call your uncle after school and tell him you'll be happy to help. The job pays good money."

"Okay, I will," I lied. "But about the shoes this afternoon..?" I prodded.

"Use the damn credit card, Rachel. But save the receipt. They're coming out of your first check."

"Understood." She ran out of the house, and I dropped my spoon into my cereal, disgusted. "I hate lying," I muttered. And it looked like I'd be having to do a lot more of it in the next few days – my mom wasn't likely to let the whole job thing drop. And I couldn't take it, even if I wanted to.

But I also couldn't walk around barefoot.


	23. Trade

**#23 – Trade**

_Jake_

The hardest part of living with the enemy was that he was so damn _good _at his job.

Tom's Yeerk never slipped. He never gave a single hint that something might be wrong. Even though I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that a Yeerk dwelled in my brother's head, I couldn't help but doubt it anyway, sometimes.

Like now. Tom, myself, and my dad were in my living room, watching the first football game of the season. My dad had invited us to join his fantasy football league, and Tom and I had both agreed. Weirdly, we'd done it for the same exact reason – so my dad wouldn't think there was anything out of the ordinary. Before the Yeerks took Tom and before I found out about them and became a part of the resistance, we'd both bugged him mercilessly to let us join his league. He'd claimed we were too young at the time – that staying up late comparing player stats and analyzing league trends would cut into our schoolwork.

Now that we were both too busy for it, of _course _two guys would drop out of his league, and of _course _he'd let us join up. Tom and I both had to act all enthusiastic about it. Now, instead of wondering if my running back was going to get over his groin pull or if my defense was going to get their act together, I was thinking about a totally different sort of defense. Tom was sitting across from me, thinking about a totally different offensive assault.

He still played his part perfectly, though. He threw a piece of ice from his drink at me and grinned at my dad's disapproving look. "So, what do you say? Trade me Aikman – you've already got a good QB. I'll give you Bettis. It's a good deal for you. You need a back. Everybody wins."

It w_as _a good deal. I needed a running back, bad. It was childish, but I couldn't help myself. I gave him the bird when my dad wasn't looking and said, "Nope. No way. I don't care if I come in second to last place – as long as you come in last."

He gave me this look that I couldn't really fathom – I didn't know if it was Tom, pissed that I was tripping up his team, or the Yeerk, not used to being denied. "You mean that," he said, his voice pensive. "You really would take second to last just to make sure I lose. That's really lame, Jake."

I stuck my tongue at him, glad for the juvenile pleasure of denying him – the Yeerk, not Tom. "No trade," I reiterated, grinning. It wasn't about the football. There was no way for Tom or the Yeerk to know that, but I knew it. I had to take victories where I could get them. "No way in hell."


	24. Approval

**#24 – Approval**

_**Picoesh Sector, Blueleaf Cluster ,Quadrant Zeta Four**_

_**Andalite Dome Ship **_**Fire Flower**

_**Eleven Earth Months After the Yeerk Defeat at Earth**_

_Ax_

The thought-speech amplifier on the wall of my Captain's Quarters hummed to life. (Captain Aximili, your presence is requested on the bridge. Threat level Beta Seven in Sector _Zalman_. Please report.)

(En route,) I calmly replied to the communicator. I kept my tone level, but my hearts were hammering away. Threat level Beta Seven wasn't that high – wasn't an Alpha One, like it would be if we'd finally found the Blade ship – but it was enough to promise a little excitement.

I resisted the urge to break into a run as I made the short trip to the bridge. Captains of Andalite Dome ships do not run. Warriors, scientists, and fighter pilots all moved to the side of the hall differentially as I passed to allow me to move unencumbered.

I reached the bridge, which was controlled chaos. I approved of the way the Andalites under my command did not stop what they were doing when I entered. Hand signals flew back and forth between the pilots and technicians; thought-speech jumbles on a battle bridge could be disastrous. I took my place at the center of it all and began pulling up pertinent information on my central computer.

(Captain, we are being followed,) my Tactical Officer, Menderash, said quietly to me. He sent the data to my terminal, and sure enough, there were four medium-sized ships in our wake. The computer could not identify them, and they appeared to shift and morph before the synthetic eyes of the holographic cameras. I smiled with my stalk eyes; I had seen this trick before.

Menderash hadn't. He saw my smile. (What are they? Should we elevate the threat level?)

(No,) I replied. (As a matter of fact, go to Delta Four. Launch the Model 22s – only 1st Squadron.) He looked confused at my order to drop the threat status to the ship while launching our starfighters, but did it immediately without questioning me. He was a good officer, Menderash. I amplified my thought-speech so the entire bridge could hear it. This was a good situation for my people to learn.

(We have some curious Naff pirates in our wake,) I informed the crew. (Can anyone tell me how they are fooling our sensors?)

Silence for a short moment – it was only broken by the slight _thunk _that went through my ship as the fighters launched. Then, tentatively, my junior communications officer spoke up.

(They may be using a net of _Ratatile _nebulites,) he ventured hesitantly. (The particles seem to have a similar effect on our scanners.)

I nodded my approval. (Very good, Halamor. Yes, they are blocking us with _Ratatile. _But why? They know we cannot make out _what _they are – almost as surely as they know we know they are there.)

This time, it was Menderash who got there first. His main eyes narrowed. (They want our eyes behind us, on them. Is there danger ahead, Captain?) he asked, pointing to the small group of rogue asteroids off of our bow.

Now I widened my stalk eyes in a broader smile – I had the best crew in the fleet, without a doubt. (Bingo,) I said one of Marco's phrases before I realized my people would not know what it meant. (I mean, correct. Full stop to the engines – have 1st Squadron make a full-burn pass of the rocks with indiscriminate shredder fire. That will draw them out.) The Dome ship stopped, and the ships in our wake stopped, too. They drifted off of our stern, shimmering and shifting as they waited. The Model 22s received their orders and roared past the Dome ship's bow.

Menderash magnified the rogue asteroids as the fighters approached them. They came into range and peppered the rocks with green shredder fire as they tore past, and a satisfying, bluish explosion came from behind one of the asteroids. (One fighter, Naff origin, destroyed,) the fighter squadron's commander reported, sounding almost bored. He reminded me of Elfangor.

The remaining two Naff pirates knew their cover was blown; they leapt from the asteroids and accelerated after my fighter squadron. I shook my head disapprovingly – bad move. My fighters turned on a dime, easily dodged the incoming Naff fire, and blew them to pieces.

Suddenly, on the rear cameras, the Naff abandoned their screen of _ratatile _and ran away. (Shall we pursue?) Menderash asked eagerly. (Naff hardware takes a long time to warm up to Z-space jumps – we can catch them before they get away.)

(No,) I replied, and then laughed at the crestfallen expression on most of my crew's faces. (Be easy, warriors – we have done our duty. We will allow those bottom feeders to return home and tell the story of how their clever ambush was easily sidestepped. The Naff will think twice before trying to prey on another Andalite warship – that I assure you.) I left the bridge to return to my quarters, but not before noticing a new expression on the faces of my crew.

Admiration.

Now that the engagement was over, I asked myself the questions I always asked. (_Would Elfangor have approved of my methods?_) The answer was yes. I then asked myself the second question, which was just as important to me. (_Would Prince Jake have approved?_)

Yes.


	25. Reminder

**#25 – Reminder**

_Tobias_

I waited to see who it was as I heard the heavy-footed crashing through the woods. Even though Ax weighed twice as much as Jake, he never made nearly as much noise as the humans. I assumed it was one of the Animorphs from the time of day – the sun was about an hour and a half from going down, which meant they'd gotten out of school a little over an hour ago. My money was on Cassie – Marco never visited, and Jake had been scrambling to bring his grades up, now that it was the end of the semester. Rachel would have been here a half an hour ago, if she was coming today – she was impatient, and she'd have come straight from school. That left Cassie.

"Tobias?" Cassie softly called as she broke the tree line that marked the beginning of my territory. I smiled internally at my correct guess.

(Here, Cassie,) I dropped from my tree and glided in to land on a log by her waist, so she wouldn't have to shout. I noticed she was carrying a grocery bag.

She smiled at me before setting the bag on the ground. Cassie was always unfailingly sweet to me. I know she feels sorry for me, even though I've told her a million times not to. "I brought that stuff you asked for last week. Morph and check it out."

Oh! I had almost forgotten I'd asked her for it – it was just a whim I'd had. I started morphing, and Cassie found something to stare at, back the way she'd come. Cassie is an artist at morphing – I'm a layman, even more than the others. My morphs are always exceedingly gross, because I have less practice.

When she heard me rummaging through the paper sack in my human form, she turned back and smiled again. "The packets are labeled – I brought you carrots, lettuce, bell peppers, and tomatoes. There's fertilizer, some old gardening tools my dad won't miss…I even brought a watering can." Her smile faded a little. "You've got some water close by, right? You must."

I nodded distractedly as I pulled the presents out of the bag and lined them up on the fallen tree. "Cassie, this is perfect," I said, gracing her with a smile of my own. It felt funny on my face, but I had to try so she'd know I appreciated it.

"I held up my end," she prodded. "Now, will you tell me why you want this stuff? You can't eat any of it – as a hawk, I mean."

I grinned again. "Two reasons. One, growing a garden will help me practice being human again. Using my hands and whatnot." I paused, because I didn't know how she'd take the second reason. But a deal was a deal, and I owed her an explanation.

"I'm not planning on eating them. Rachel comes to visit, and she might like a snack." I realized I was beating around the bush. "But basically, they're traps."

Understanding dawned in her eyes. "Oh. Trying to boost the rabbit and mouse populations?" she asked easily.

"You got it." She didn't exactly disapprove, I could tell, but I felt self-conscious, all the same. "But mostly, I just want a reminder that I need to be human, at least once a day."


	26. Support

**#26 – Support**

"Thanks for sharing – I mean, partaking," the group leader said as Sheri sat down, embarrassed that he'd slipped and used the word "sharing" – here, of all places. "I believe Albert wanted to add his input, next."

Albert stood up, his face already reddening even though he hadn't said a word yet. "My name is Albert, and I'm a former controller."

"Hello, Albert," the rest of the twenty-something member group droned.

He hesitated. "I've been having some…um…intimacy issues with my wife," he admitted. "See, I was infested and she wasn't. For three years, my Yeerk turned down all of her…sexual advances. He wasn't interested. I guess it became habit for us to just not be…intimate."

Nobody interrupted. The only sound was Homeless Joe slurping his black coffee noisily in the corner. Homeless Joe claimed to have been a controller, but most of the members suspected he was only in it for the free coffee. Albert continued. "Now that I'm free, I have feelings about it all the time. I want to make up for the lost…experiences. But my wife just isn't into it. I don't know if it's because she's just used to not being intimate with me. Sometimes I feel like she's disgusted with me because of the fact that I was a controller for so long. I don't know what it is. All I know is that we don't have sex anymore, and I feel like it's my fault."

A girl of about nineteen raised her hand. "May I?" Albert sat down and nodded. The girl stood.

"I'm Jeannie, and I'm a former controller."

"Hi, Jeannie," the group said as one.

"It's the same for me. My boyfriend won't touch me ever since my Yeerk reported me for the de-infestation process." She looked Albert directly in the eye. "I love him, but I think I'm going to leave him. I think I need someone who will fully…understand." Her voice thickened, and everyone in the room could see that she was choking back tears. "Maybe we're not fit to be with normal people."

"We _are _normal," the group leader reminded her. "We're normal people who were forced into an extremely abnormal situation." He spent the rest of the support group meeting hammering that idea into the members' heads. Everyone nodded along like they agreed.

But, at the end of the meeting, Jeannie slipped Albert a piece of paper with her cell number written on it.


	27. Truth

**#27 – Truth**

It was only Thursday, but I was already looking ahead to Saturday, when I could get out of my apartment and bum around with Jake at the arcade in the mall.

I was mentally listing the order in which I'd play my favorite games when I walked in to my apartment. As usual, the first thing I did was take off my backpack and sling it into the corner of the living room.

The second thing I did was assess my dad's condition. I had a one-to-ten system for doing this, ten being a state of emergency.

He was on the couch. One slipper on, one off. The bottle in his lap was nearly empty, and it wasn't even four pm yet. His skin was waxy and covered in a sheen of sweat, and his eyes were somehow manic and far away at the same time. He didn't look at me, but spoke in a slurry voice.

"Hey, Marco." He continued conversationally, "She killed herself, you know."

Definitely an eight, today. Not good. I'd figured out that when my dad was at a level seven or more, talking to him was a waste of breath. I just made a b-line for the kitchen to see if there was anything worth snacking on.

My dad grabbed my sleeve as I passed and almost knocked me over. "Don't ignore me," he slurred. "I said, she killed herself. She knew the ocean better than me. Better than God. But she went out anyway, out in the storm. So she did it. Killed herself."

I should have kept walking. "Dad, you're drunk," I stated the obvious. "Why don't you try your bed? You'll feel better tomorrow."

"_You _try the bed," he shot back, and I rolled my eyes. "She killed herself."

"You're drunk," I said again, and shook my arm free of his grasp.

As I entered the kitchen, I heard him say, "Yep, drunk again. _En vino veritas._" He laughed like that was the funniest thing in the world…cackled like a madman. Then, abruptly, the laughs turned into sobs. I found a stale pop tart and took it to my room, trying not to let my dad's behavior get to me. It was nothing new.

I fired up my modem and waited for the search engine. I spoke a little Spanish, but I'd never heard the phrase my dad had used before. Almost absentmindedly, I typed _En vino veritas._ After the search engine corrected my spelling, I found out it was Latin. It roughly translated to, "In wine, there is truth."

I tossed the last half of the pop tart in the trash, appetite gone. Maybe. Maybe my dad was saying the truth. '_True or not, doesn't matter,_' I told myself as I flopped onto my bed and put on my headphones. '_What matters is we're one late rent payment away from being homeless._' As the music flowed into the headphones, I had the following thought.

'_Something has to give. If things don't change, I'm out of here._'

Things were about to change, all right.

_**On a personal note…**_

I'm likely to be absent, or at least sporadic, on this site for a while. I live on the beach on the Mississippi Gulf Coast, and tropical storm Isaac is just starting to make landfall. The dark wind howls…sorry. Melodramatic nature. Anyway, I'll be back as soon as I can. Take care while I'm away, and as always, thank you for reading.

Yours,

Shane-O


	28. Illegal

**A/N – **I know the whole set of drabbles is rated T…and that was precautionary for pieces just like this one. **Warning: **contains drug use and swear words. It will contain some of the Animorphs acting in a way that may seem OOC to you. Keep in mind, it's only for _fun._ You have been cautioned!

**#28 – Illegal**

_Jake_

"Come on, Jake. Is you a man or is you a mouse?" Marco grinned, holding up what looked like a skinny cigar. "You said you would. It's for research."

"Yes. Research," Ax agreed. "I requested – quest-tidd – testing other substances with psychotropic effects on the human central nervous system. Caffeine is one – a stimulant. I would like to experience a depressant effect on the CNS. See enn ess-suh."

When I'd agreed to smoke pot, I hadn't really expected Marco to be able to find any. After all, we barely knew anyone outside of the six of us. It wasn't even his idea – it was Ax's. Not smoking weed, specifically, but experimenting with a depressant.

We'd agreed on alcohol, but believe it or not, marijuana is apparently easier for a fifteen year old to get his hands on than booze. Then, Marco had made the point that drinking could put you out of commission for up to twelve hours. The website said that pot only affected the mind for four hours at most, and that the "high" would go away in the event of a period of high stress. Anyway, if we needed to, we could just morph away from its effects. We did it with poison – why not drugs?

Well, I was highly stressed already, and he hadn't even lit the damn thing. "What if -"

I didn't get out more than those two words before Marco started arguing. "Nope. No reneging. Cassie and Rachel are both out of town, because we specifically budgeted this weekend entirely for non-Yeerk activities."

"But what -"

"Nope. It doesn't matter if the Yeerks get dirty this weekend. Two members of the team are gone, and we won't act without them. It doesn't matter if Visser Three lands his Blade ship on top of my house – we're not going to do anything about it."

"But it's illegal, and -"

"Nope. We risk our lives for the people who make the laws, so breaking just this one won't hurt anything.

"But -"

"Nope. Your parents know you're staying the night, so no chance that they'll bust you. My dad will be at work for -" he checked his watch – "the next nine and a half hours. We're all alone. Just me, you, Scorpion Boy, and the Amazing Winged Wonder."

Ax interjected. "Prince Jake, why are you frightened? It is only a plant. A plant which we will set on fire and inhale the resulting smoke. It is bad for your health, but morphing has regenerative effects on biological organs. I do not understand why you are afraid." He studied me for a moment before adding, "Fraid."

Frayed. That was the perfect way to describe my nerves. I don't know why; Ax was right. I did things on a weekly basis that were _really _scary. No reason to freak out about something as silly as this. No reason to _do _it…but Marco made a good point when he said that normal teenagers did things without a reason all the time.

Tobias agreed with Ax, apparently. "I don't know, Jake. Seems like you're being a bit girly about the whole thing." He glanced at Marco. "I'm going to do it. I'm barely ever human anymore – it's nice to act like an everyday, reckless, stupid teenager. Fire that joker up, Marco."

Marco cackled, but didn't light it. He looked at me. "If you want to be responsible – like that's new – then just watch. Of course…I'll never let you live it down."

Ax tried to come to my defense. "I will not ridicule you for declining to partake, Prince Jake. I only want to experiment for my own sake. I do not care – cay-yee-er – if you inhale the smoke from the plant or not."

I sighed. There was no bluff in Marco's face – he never _would _let me live it down. "You could sell ice cubes to an Eskimo," I told him. "All right. Why not? We're only risking -"

"Shut up," he said, and lit the cigar. He inhaled deeply, and the look on his face was priceless. It was an 'oh, shit!' look if I'd ever seen one. He held the smoke in until his face turned an amusing shade of purple, then let it out in a huge plume and started coughing. And coughing. And coughing.

Tobias laughed and took it from him. He took a much more conservative drag, and his lungs thanked him for it by not causing him to cough up a lung. Ax was watching them studiously; he wouldn't have looked out of place if he'd been taking notes. Tobias passed it to him, and he handled it very carefully, keeping the lit end away from his fingers.

The end of the cigar glowed as Ax sucked on the other end. He started coughing before he was through inhaling, but somehow kept going. He tried to talk with a chest full of smoke, but I couldn't make out what he was saying. He held it out to me, and I took it. Took it, but didn't smoke it.

I didn't smoke it because Marco had the strangest look on his face. "Dude, you okay?" I asked him.

"Yeah," he said dreamily. "I feel…wow. Jake, you don't have to do it. I understand. I get why you are the way you are." I scrutinized him to find the underlying joke, the punchline that was sure to come…but there wasn't one. He reached out and took it from me. "I think…I think you're really brave, man. And you didn't want to smoke this, so I don't want you to."

"He's high," Tobias said. He thought about it and said, "Whoa. Me too." He started laughing like he'd said the funniest thing in the world. Soon after, Marco and even Ax were shaking with laughter. I just stared at them, fascinated. Disturbed, sure, but fascinated all the same.

"Prince Jake…haha…I do not understand what is funny. But it is! So funny! Nee nee nee nee FUNNY!" he yelled before falling off of Marco's bed in a fit of laughter. Marco and Tobias' laughter redoubled, and soon, all three of them were rolling around on the floor, laughing so hard they were gasping for air and crying.

I picked up the remainder of the weed cigar off of the carpet where Marco'd dropped it, took it to his bathroom, and flushed it. I expected Marco to be mad – he'd made a big deal about paying twenty bucks for the little thing – but he didn't care at all. "Probably a good idea," he said, wiping tears from his eyes. The three of them were grinning at each other. Ax was touching his own face, then the carpet, then Tobias' face.

"We all have skin," he said. "We all have skinn-uh!" That started another round of laughter.

Marco stopped suddenly. "Guys! Oh my God!" Tobias and Ax both looked at him, alarmed. "I have cheesecake in the fridge! And Coke, and cold cuts!"

"Oh! You speak of food-duh?" Ax cried.

Marco laughed again. "Yeah, Ax-man. I speak of food."

Ax nearly knocked me over barreling out of the bedroom. "I crave human food! I will eat it! And human dining rules be damned!" Tobias and Marco followed right on his heels, laughing hysterically.


	29. Mistake

**A/N – **This one is rated T for a naughty word.

**#29 – Mistake**

Rachel checked the caller ID and couldn't keep the tone of annoyance out of her voice as she answered the phone. "What is it, Marco?"

"Don't do that," he said, and he sounded angry. "You know what it is. And before we have to face the others, we need to talk about it."

Rachel shucked and jived. "What do you mean, face the others? They don't need to know. There's nothing for them _to _know."

"Quit it," he snapped. "You know what I mean. We aren't going to say anything, for obvious reasons. But I feel like I can't trust you anymore, after what happened -"

"_You _can't trust _me?_" she cut him off incredulously. "You manipulated me! You made me feel sorry for you, and -"

"Wait just a damn minute!" he crowed. "I didn't manipulate you, I was honest with you!"

Rachel took a deep breath and tried to count to five. Didn't work – she was very, very close to seeing red. "Don't be stupid. You might have _thought _you were being honest. But you weren't. And what happened was me reacting out of sympathy."

Her words angered Marco even more, but his cunning mind took him down a different path. "What _did _happen, Rachel?" he asked silkily.

"You know what happened. It was a mistake."

"That's right. You need to say it out loud, though, because you still haven't accepted it."

Rachel pinched the phone between her head and shoulder and threw up her hands. "You told me you were in love with me. And you looked so pathetically awkward when you said it that I had a moment of weakness and let you kiss me."

Silence at the other end. "Fine. You kissed me, and I didn't stop you. Happy?"

Marco chuckled darkly. "Not in the least."

Rachel sighed, knowing that she had sort of brought it on herself. She _should _have punched the weasel in the nose when he made his move. Should have. "Look, man. I have feelings for you. I feel the same way about Cassie and Jake and even Ax. I love you, okay? I do. But not like that. Tobias…"

"Tobias is a fucking hawk!" Marco seethed. "He doesn't have the balls to be human for you. He's too scared of being human to give up his wings for you, and you know it."

Now it was Rachel's turn to be silent. Marco realized he'd let his emotions take over completely and sighed. "I didn't mean that. Out of line. It's just…"

"I'm going to let it go, Marco. I'm going to let it go because you're scared and you're alone and it freaks you out that you're the only one that doesn't have somebody."

"There was something in that kiss, Rachel. There was something in it."

Rachel sighed. How could she sort out the different kinds of love she felt for her teammates? How could this ridiculously awkward situation have been avoided, when Marco had bled for her? How could she explain, when she didn't even understand? "Regardless," she whispered. "It was a mistake."


	30. Level

**#30 – Level**

_Marco_

Jake and I rounded the corner of the gym after school. He was talking about football, and although I had no idea where he was finding the time to pay attention to the NFL, his facts were solid. "…and that's why the Seahawks will never, ever beat the Chargers at Qualcomm. I'd even put five bucks on…" he trailed off.

I followed his eyes to see what had made him give up in the middle of his well thought-out argument. I didn't like what I saw. Two guys a grade above us had a kid down on the ground against the brick wall of the gym. As I watched, the smaller of the standing-up guys kicked the kid on the ground, and the bigger one laughed. "Jake, this isn't a fight we need," I said, willing him to just walk away.

My telepathic urge didn't work. He didn't even answer me, just dropped his bag on the ground and made a b-line for them. "Great," I grumbled, but I followed him.

The smaller guy stomped on the kid again, and that was enough for Jake. "Hey!" he yelled, and all three heads snapped up to see where the authoritative shout had come from. I recognized the older, bigger bully – Sinclair. Awesome. I'd had a run-in with this scumbag, before.

Jake stopped about ten feet away and glared at the bullies coolly. "You had your fun. Let him up."

The kid on the ground – Ryan Albright, a nice, nerdy kid in my history class – didn't wait for Sinclair's permission. While Sinclair's attention was on Jake, he scrambled to his feet and sprinted away at top speed without so much as a thanks. Typical.

Sinclair folded his arms across his chest. "Well hi, Jake. You lookin' for a fight? Because you just might have found one."

"Tough guy," Sinclair's shorter henchman, Johnson, sneered. "We might just teach you a lesson, Big Jake. You and your boyfriend."

"Rolling dorks for lunch money again, Sinclair? You're just one bad one-liner away from being a complete walking cliché," I told him. In a quieter aside, I said to Jake, "Let's just go. Ryan got away."

Apparently, Sinclair heard me. "You'd better listen to your boyfriend, Jakey. I'm still in the mood to put somebody in the hospital."

Jake's not usually one to be baited, but he took it. Nobody expected him to, especially not me, but he did. He took a couple of menacing steps toward the two, and I tried to hold him back. "Jake, are you kidding? We don't need this."

He stopped walking, but not talking. "I'm sick of lowlifes like you two terrorizing this place. If I catch you at it again, you're done. You hear me? _Done._"

Sinclair's eyes widened, and he took the threat seriously. He said a nasty word and grumbled, "Let's go."

Johnson wasn't as smart. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife.

Now, I know it was in his pocket, but this was no pocketknife. This was like a fold-up bayonet. He tried to stare Jake down, to make sure Jake saw the weapon in his hand. What happened next still stands out in my memory, among all of the hundreds of fights – most of them with the Yeerks – that we had been through.

Jake roughly pushed my arm off of his shoulder and actually stalked toward Johnson. Sinclair smelled big trouble and backed off like the coward he was. Jake stopped just outside of stabbing distance and said, "You think that pigsticker scares me, you little weasel? Flip that blade out and do something."

I was on his side, and his tone scared _me_. His eyes hadn't changed color or anything, but they'd hardened, somehow. Johnson, not knowing any better, did like Jake said and flipped the blade out of the handle. I guess he was still trying to intimidate Jake.

Jake took another step toward him, and even though Johnson was the one with the weapon, he took a step back. "Don't come any closer or I'll stab your ass!" he shrieked.

Jake ignored him and took another step. "You gonna stand there and talk about it? Or are you going to make a move?" Jake took _another _step. "I said _throw down._"

I wanted to tell him to quit while he was ahead, but you could seriously feel in the air how fragile the moment was. How tense. How close this particular powder keg was to exploding. I dropped my bag as quietly as I could, tensing up to make a move when Johnson went to stick Jake. Sinclair was a half a football field away – it would be two on one, but the knife would even things up.

Now Jake was steadily stalking forward and Johnson was retreating just as steadily. Johnson's butt bumped against the wall of the gym, and suddenly there was no more room to back up. He was cornered. Suddenly, Jake roared.

"_Drop that god damn knife and run while I still let you!_"

And, amazingly, Johnson did just that. He dropped the knife and turned tail and ran away like the devil himself was after him.

Jake exhaled in a shaky _whoosh. _He seemed to be coming out of some sort of trance – he looked around for a second, then said to me, "Hey, where's my bag?"

I picked up my own and said, "Back where you left it." Jake nodded and walked back the way we came from to get it. He picked it up and started casually heading back toward our houses.

He didn't say anything. I left it quiet for a minute before saying, "So we're not going to talk about it? We're not out to risk our necks screwing with bullies, man. What was that all about?"

He just shrugged. "I can't stand it, is all. Bullies of any race or species drive me nuts."

I thought about that, and how that's essentially what the Yeerks are. Only instead of lunch money, they want…well, you know.

"I still think you took it too far," I said, but I didn't exactly believe it. I was still in awe over the steel in Jake's spine. It's one thing to fight for your planet in a predator morph. It's another to almost throw your life away to stand up to a school bully.

"Nope. I took it to the level it needed to go. No more, no less."

"That…that was some level," I said, and I left it at that.


	31. Screen

**#31 – Screen**

_Jake_

Two more blocks. That's all I had left to walk. Two more blocks, through a front door, up fourteen stairs…then I could collapse onto my bed and get two solid hours of sleep. Maybe even three, if my mom was late with dinner.

We'd had a rough week. While most people would be gearing up for their Friday night right about now, I was just trying to trudge one more block and a half.

Yeerks. Always the Yeerks. They didn't care about my schedule and the fact that I _needed _sleep. The invasion never took a break…so how was it fair that I needed to? "The equation is lopsided," I mumbled to myself. Still had algebra on the brain from last period.

Oh, just one more half a block. I could see my house. Maybe two hundred more steps. I could see…my dad's car in the driveway? I squinted. Yep, right there behind my mom's. My burned-out adrenal glands squeezed out what little they had left to give and I woke up a shade.

Weird, for my dad to be home this early on a Friday. Most Fridays, he was late…jamming in as many ear infections and sore throats and whooping coughs as he possibly could before the weekend. Mad unusual for him to be home…and in my world, unusual almost always equals bad. "Uncommon event #1 plus an active Yeerk threat as #2, multiplied by a tired Animorph - #3 – equals X. And X is never good."

Maybe that adrenaline hadn't woken me up as much as I thought. I was still halfway back in math class.

I walked through the front door of my house, setting my books down quietly. I tried to tread lightly through the hall, not wanting to give away my position in case an ambush had been set.

An ambush had been set, all right, and I walked right into it. I was still creeping on the balls of my feet when I rounded the corner to the kitchen…to find my parents sitting at the dining table waiting for me. There was a small box on the table between them.

"Hey, Jake," my dad said, sounding cheerful. My dad's a transparent man, and the cheer was obviously forced.

"Hi, honey." My mom was more composed – she had the look of a woman about to do something she really, really didn't want to do.

"What's this about?" That was me. Too tired for games, too tired for pussyfooting around the point. "Am I in trouble or something?"

My dad squirmed and my mom cleared her throat. She looked at me sadly. "Look at you, Jake. You're a wreck. Dark circles around the eyes. Sleeping during the day. Two nights ago…I find pillows under your covers while you're supposed to be sleeping. Are you really surprised we're doing this?"

I'm telling you, my first thought was, '_They know! The Yeerks took them and they're about to take me!_'

Luckily, before I could spazz, logic overrode panic. Of _course _that wasn't what this was. It wouldn't be my mom and dad at the table, it would be Visser Three with approximately thirty Hork-Bajir.

But…if not _that_…then _what?_ "I don't get it," I said honestly.

My dad sighed heavily. "Your mother thinks…" she kicked him under the table. "Ow. _We _suspect you might be on drugs."

I stared at them blankly. "Really?" I asked, honestly surprised. "Oh. No…not on drugs," I said.

"Jake, if it was just the constant exhaustion, I'd believe you," my mom said. "But I can't look past the paranoia anymore. You're constantly looking over your shoulder – there! You just did it again! You just looked past me and out the kitchen window, like you expect somebody to come and get you at any moment!"

I realized what the box on the table contained. I knew this was an important, pivotal moment in my relationship with my parents…and I was simply too tired to care. I would have to do a better job of covering up the paranoid glances, but first, I needed sleep. And before I could sleep…

I held out my hand. "Give me the drug screen. I'll go take it right now. Let's get this over with. I need a nap." My parents exchanged worried glances…but my mom handed me the box.


	32. Style

**#32 – Style**

_Cassie_

I had to admit, it was an improvement.

Rachel, either tired of Marco's complaining or just sick of our collective ragtag look, had taken it upon herself to upgrade what we thought of as our morphing outfits.

We were in the barn. Rachel had shown up with a big, brown bag and insisted we all try on her new morphing suits. I heard the stall door next to mine bang open. "Yeah, buddy," Marco said, sounding satisfied. "_This_ is more like it. It really shows off my pecs."

Rachel snorted a laugh. "I don't know about your underdeveloped muscles…but the suit looks good."

Marco laughed along. He never minded laughing at himself, as long as it was funny. "Of course I look small compared to Jake. Jake looks like Superman on 'roids, next to me." I heard Jake good-naturedly tell him to shut up.

"Rash guards were a good idea," he conceded to Rachel. "Light enough to wear under our clothes and not get hot, but tight enough to stay with us when we morph."

"Fashion Queen Xena wins this round," Marco agreed. "You look great, too, by the way. You don't think the pink trim is a little flashy, though? I mean, we're trying to be inconspicuous."

I could almost see Rachel rolling her eyes. "We're running around in what amounts to bike shorts and surfing tops. Inconspicuous is out…so we might as well look _good_."

"I do not realize how this suit is different from my old one," Ax said. "Olddunn."

"I like how you went with different colors for everybody," Tobias commented. "No need to make us look like a sports team."

Marco laughed. "If a sports team wore this – and they weren't a roller derby squad – they'd be laughed off of the field. If we're all running around together in spandex, we're going to look like escapees from the Special Olympics Gymnastics team, anyway," Marco joked. About four out of five of his jokes missed, but everybody laughed at that one. Even me, even though I was still hiding in the horse stall and self-consciously picking at the skin-tight material.

"Come on, Cassie, let's see it," Rachel called. "We've all seen you in worse, trust me. That leotard you wore was…ugh."

She was right. No need to be self-conscious in front of my teammates. It could be worse.

Morphing technology could require the user to be naked.

I stepped out of the stall and stood there awkwardly. I knew I shouldn't, since everybody was wearing what amounted to the same thing…but I was.

Marco was striking a Mr. Universe pose for me, and that cut through a lot of my tension. I couldn't help laughing.

Tobias and Ax stood next to each other, neither one comfortable enough with being human to feel any discomfort…if that makes any sense.

Like Marco had said, of course Rachel looked great. She looked like she was about to get on a board and rip a set of waves at the National Surfing Championships.

I looked at Jake last, and he was looking back at me. It may have just been my imagination, but I thought I saw appreciation in his eyes. Like, maybe I wasn't just some stubby girl in a thin wetsuit. Like maybe he liked what he saw.

I liked what _I _saw. Jake didn't look like Superman, but he did look good. I tried not to ogle him, but I guess I stared a little too long. Marco cleared his throat noisily, and I blushed.

"Well?" Rachel demanded. "Is it enough that I don't have to listen to the complaining anymore, Marco?"

Marco, for whatever reason, said, "Let's let Cassie decide. How do we look?"

I thought about it, and grinned as I repeated my earlier thought. "We could be naked."

"Yes. We could be naked," Ax repeated, not getting the sarcasm. "That would be much more convenient."

Jake and Marco were able to restrain him before he could pull his bike shorts all the way down.


	33. First

**Author's Note: **Hi! So yeah, this next one is an attempt to explain a few of the things about morphing that have always bothered me. My science will be off – it always is – but bear with me and remember this is just for entertainment! Thanks, and enjoy!

**#33 – First**

_Marco_

After Ax had decided to tell us everything about the Andalites that he knew, Rachel had brought up a good question.

"Why can't I change the way my hair looks when I morph?" she'd asked. "I mean, my stylist _butchered _my bangs." She thought about her own question before saying, "How does that work, anyway? I mean, the length of my hair isn't in my genetic code. How does morphing put me back exactly the way I was when I morphed?"

(You are correct in noting that physical attributes, such as hair length and individual musculature, are not written in the genetic code. Your body does have chemical markers for these things, however, and morphing technology detects and stores them along with your genetic information.)

"My body has a chemical marker for my hair length?" Rachel asked.

(Morphing technology is quite impressive, even though it is new. A twelve inch hair puts more pressure on the follicle than a ten inch hair. The _Escafil _technology notes that. Each specific muscle-to-fat ratio has a different effect on caloric consumption rates, and the technology also detects _that._ Age, down to the nanosecond, is detected through a series of biological markers, as well.)

Interesting.

I'd stopped working out after the first time I'd morphed. I'd kind of figured, '_What's the point?_' at the time. What Ax was saying that any exterior changes to my human body, good or bad, wouldn't be lost through morphing.

Interesting.

So instead of laying on my bed when I watched TV at night, I'd started doing push-ups and stomach crunches. I had no desire to be a muscle-bound freak, anymore – anything I needed to be that strong for, my gorilla morph would do just fine. No, not necessary to be a bodybuilder, anymore.

But a slim, sexy physique like a professional runner or swimmer? That was _so _me. On the off chance I ever got invited to a pool party and actually got the chance to go, I wanted to look like a sex mo-_chine._

It took a week before I noticed anything. If it weren't for the almost-painful tightness in my stomach, chest, shoulders, and arms, I would have thought my bedroom workouts were useless. Exactly seven days after I'd started wailing on my stomach and arms, I saw something in the mirror as I stepped out of the shower.

The very first lines of definition were visible in my stomach. I turned to the left and the right, trying to attribute them to the light…but they wouldn't go away. They were really there.

"Huh!" I said, surprised and pleased. "Nice!"

That night, instead of my usual hundred stomach crunches, I did one-fifty.

There's no law against superheroes looking like superheroes.


	34. Understudy

**#34 – Understudy**

_Tobias_

Ax and I have a lot of time to talk, being alone out in the woods together. Once, I'd told him everything I knew about Shakespeare. It wasn't much. For some reason, Shakespeare had intrigued him more than any other human he'd heard about. After mentioning it to Rachel, she'd been thoughtful enough to give me a book for him, one that was more about Shakespeare's life than the works he's famous for.

Ax was fascinated by the man, as so many people have been in the last fifteen hundred years. The day after the he got the book, he had a ton of questions for me. One in particular sparked off a very interesting discussion.

(This book commonly references a character called 'understudy.' He seems to be a minor character in most ways, but the books talks about him as if he were of vital importance. The duality confuses me.)

I laughed a little. (An understudy isn't a character, it's a back-up. Major characters in plays have to have them, in case the actors get sick or whatever.)

(Ah.) Ax considered that. (Does that happen often?)

(It used to,) I said. (People were really competitive for major roles in plays, in those days. I'm sure a lot of the illnesses and accidents that happened to the first actors weren't accidental at all.)

Ax's stalk eyes narrowed to slits, the way they tend to when he disapproves of something. (It was jealousy that caused harm to come to these actors, so that their understudies could assume their place?)

I would have shrugged if I'd been in human morph. (I guess. Humans can be petty and jealous, Ax. You know that. They can also be ruthless when they want something someone else has.)

(Yes, I know that. But it is a make-believe performance. From this book, I understand that even lead actors were not rich men. Money is what motivates people to do horrible things, most of the time.)

(Yeah, but fame can be just as bad. Everybody wants to be a household name.)

(You are not like that,) Ax pointed out. (If we win this war, people will want to know you and your friends. Would you allow them the access to your personal life? Would you enjoy the benefits of being famous?)

It wasn't something I thought about, because the chances of us winning against the Yeerks were slim to none. (_If _we win? No,) I said, surprised at how easily the answer came to me. (Honestly, I'll want to go somewhere private and quiet with Rachel. Maybe even try to talk her into going to your planet, where we would be left alone.)

Ax suddenly laughed. (Perhaps you should start interviewing people to be your own understudy. Someone who will take the attention off of you and allow you to live in peace.)

I laughed too. (You interested in the position? You could morph human and just live on fame. People would bring you all the cinnamon rolls you could eat.)

Ax sobered. (I already am an understudy.)

(What?) I asked, confused.

He looked at me with three eyes. (I am Elfangor's understudy. He cannot continue his role in this play. I must carry on in his place.)

I didn't know what to say to that.


	35. Hunt

**#35 – Hunt**

_Marco_

I've been forced to live in the woods with Ax and Tobias now for sixteen days, three hours, and forty-four minutes. Counting the time is a hobby. Having a hobby is vital, especially when our precarious supply of electricity fritzes out and our TV and computer are unusable.

Food is another issue. Jake sneaks us – and by us, I mean me – what he can. Mostly its packages of freeze dried noodles and other stuff his mom won't miss out of the pantry.

After a while, my body started craving things that I don't even like. Greens, for one. I'd started eating grasses that Ax identified as human-safe from his nature books. They tasted like crap, but I noticed a healthy difference in my skin color immediately.

Tobias was always being difficult. I know I'm not easy to live with, but he took every opportunity to take shots at me. All I'd done was mention that I missed meat, and he was all over me.

(If you need my help, Marco, just ask.) Smug little jerk. (I'll be happy to bring you something to eat.)

"I'd rather eat dirt."

(You're not far from it,) he said gleefully. (Probably some protein in there for you, with the worms and all. Gotta get it, somehow.)

I glared. "You love this," I accused.

He casually preened under his wing. (I'm just giving as good as I get it. How long have you been busting on me for living in the woods and killing to eat?)

Fair enough.

After my first two miserable attempts to construct a bow and arrow failed, even with Ax's precision tail-cuts on my tools, he asked me a question that should have been obvious to me. (I understand that this is how your primitive ancestors hunted food. But you have Andalite technology inside of you. Why not use it?)

I muttered some lame excuse about wanting to live off of the land, but the fact was that I hadn't even considered it. It didn't really seem fair, using a predator morph to take something down to eat as a human.

Once you get hungry enough, though, your sense of fair play flies out of the frigging window.

I took down a small buck in cheetah morph. It _wasn't_ even fair; deer are fast, but nothing on Earth outruns a cheetah. I demorphed and carried it over my shoulders back to camp. Ax wouldn't help me disembowel it or cut steaks, but I was able to get it done with a flimsy steak knife. It was messy, disgusting work, and it took forever, but I was too hungry for meat to care.

I risked building a small fire to cook on. The whole time the meat steamed and sputtered over the open flames, my mouth watered incessantly. Ax, usually insane over the chance to morph human and taste things, wouldn't even consider doing it. He wouldn't even come near the scoop until I was done.

Whatever. More for me.

I ate more than I thought I could hold. Then I ate some more. Unseasoned, it was still the most delicious meal I've ever eaten.

Through a mouthful of venison, I looked up to where Tobias was watching from a perch. "I'll never bust on you again. I get it, now."

His only reply was a compliment, coming from him; I saw it as an olive branch, and accepted it. (It was a good kill,) he said casually before flying away to let me eat in peace – a sign of respect from one predator to another.


	36. Inside

**#36 – Inside**

_Marco_

I do my best to stay out of trouble at school, honestly. But sometimes, it's just too easy.

I was zoned out in Chemistry. This was not unusual. The teacher saw it and called on me for an answer – also not unusual. Mrs. Parrot was fond of making inattentive students look dumb.

"What are the main differences between the three stages of matter – Marco?"

Last class of the day. Five more minutes to get through without saying something I'd regret. Could I pull it off?

"A solid is a favor from a friend, a liquid is what you drink when you're thirsty, and a gas is what comes out of your backside when you overdo the Taco Bell."

Guess not.

After the bell rang and I picked up my detention slip, I tried to leave in a hurry. I wouldn't have to serve the detention until tomorrow, but if Chapman heard about it and ran into me before I made myself scarce, I'd be sure to get an earful.

A tug on my backpack made me turn around. It was the girl who sat next to me, Stephanie. Stephanie was cool – she was full-on goth, but I liked her despite the black nail polish and dark clothes. She wrote poetry in her notebook, and sometimes I peeked. She was really good at it – not that I'd ever tell her that.

She was looking at me with this strange mix of disapproval and curiosity. "I wish you wouldn't do that," she said, sounding annoyed.

"Do what?" I asked, genuinely confused. We barely ever spoke; now she was getting on my case?

"You always do that to yourself. Get yourself in trouble by trying to make people laugh." She gave an irritated toss of her hand toward the kids filing out of Chemistry behind us. "It doesn't make them like you."

"Are you sure about that? I thought Greg was going to pee his pants," I joked, but it seemed to make her mad.

"You're smarter than that," she admonished me. "You like to play the clown, but that's not the truth of who you are. That's not who you are on the inside."

This conversation was starting to take a left turn toward Bizarro-town. "What the hell are you talking about?" She wasn't the only one who sounded annoyed anymore.

She never did give me a good answer. "I don't like seeing you get yourself into trouble for the amusement of those jerks. You're better than that. Just do me a favor, and keep your mouth shut the next time a stupid joke comes to mind. At least while I'm around."

"Whatever," I mumbled. Just because _she _didn't think I was funny didn't give her the right to boss me.

The creep-factor doubled – she smiled and reached out to pat me on the shoulder. "You're a good guy." Without another word, she walked away.

"What a freak," I said under my breath.

But I didn't get another detention in chemistry for the rest of the semester.


	37. Shooting Star

**#37 – Shooting Star**

_Rachel_

I'd told my mom that I was going to Cassie's and that I might stay the night. I had every intention of going over there…but once I had wings, they took me in a different direction.

I just needed to get away, and I wanted to be alone. I knew of one place I could go where I was sure not to be interrupted, so I went there. I landed on top of the water tower on the edge of town and demorphed.

Once human, I belly-crawled to the edge and looked down. I felt the edge of not-quite-fear – the same thrill a normal kid probably gets on a roller coaster. I was almost two hundred feet in the air as a human. Too high to survive a fall, but not high enough to have the safety net of morphing to save me. If I slipped, the best I'd be able to manage would be to smash into the ground as a half-morphed creature.

I smiled. The feeling of being a normal girl in this situation was great. The fact that morphing couldn't save my life was comforting. Weird, I know…but still, it made the rush _real _somehow.

When I got over the thrill of being so close to the edge, I crawled back to the middle of the water tower's curved roof and lay on my back. Out here, I was high enough and far enough from the city lights to actually see the stars.

I started thinking about the reason I'd had to get away. It was something stupid, really. This boy in my biology class, Matt, had caught up to me after the bell and asked me if I wanted to go see a movie with him.

I'd turned him down, of course. But it had started me thinking. In a normal world, I probably would have said yes. I probably would have been flattered that he asked me; Matt was a popular lacrosse player, and handsome, too. I probably would have had a good time. I might have let him kiss me after he dropped me off, and I might have called Cassie right away to talk about it.

That stuff just didn't interest me anymore, and it made me a little sad. Maybe the Yeerks had something to do with my attitude change, but more than anything, it was Tobias.

How to know how to feel about that kid? I loved him – that much I knew. But my dad told me when I was young that people always seem to love things that are wrong for them. Was I doing that?

No. I didn't really believe that. There were a million reasons to care about Tobias, and I couldn't think of any not to. On the surface, maybe…I mean, we're not even the same species, anymore. But that's complicated, too – he _could _be human, if he wanted to. No, that wasn't right, either. He _did _want to, I was sure. His sense of duty was too strong to leave us without his help. To leave _me _without it.

I sighed. Was nothing easy? Was everything shades of gray?

"I wish somebody would just tell me what to do. I don't want these decisions," I said out loud.

Not two seconds after I said that, a meteor shot across the sky, so bright that even after it was gone, I could still see it. I'm not a big believer in signs; we've seen things that make you have to question God's existence.

But as I started to morph with the streak of the shooting star still in my vision, I couldn't help but smile and feel a little better. Even in an ugly world, there was still simple beauty to be found, if you knew where to look.


	38. Misery

**#38 – Misery**

Please, see this as if it were a painting on canvas. See it as well as you can, and let what you see move you as it will.

It's a cold, California night. The sky is as clear as cut crystal, as it can only be when it's too frigid outside for comfort. Each star is a tiny, brilliant white light, and the young man sits under what seems to be thousands of them.

He's drunk, with a mostly forgotten bottle of scotch in his left hand. His unruly mop of brown hair shags into his eyes, because he can't bear to be around others long enough to get it cut. The stubble that dots his face isn't a beard – he's too young to grow a real one. It's the half-formed fuzz of someone barely out of his teens, and it whispers of sadness and don't-care despair.

His face is prematurely lined; the creases in his forehead, the crow's feet around his eyes, and the perpetual frown all go away when he's happy and smiling. But he never is. Not anymore.

His brown eyes are always moist; he doesn't cry unless he's too drunk to realize it, but that happens more and more often. He doesn't cry – not sober – but his world-wearied eyes are always brimming with sadness, always on the verge of tears that don't quite spill over.

He sits on the dewy lawn. The cold moisture soaks into his jeans; he hasn't thought to bring anything to sit on. Nor does he care. Every discomfort, every uncomfortability, he unconsciously sees as payment for his self-convicted crimes. He doesn't know it, but he does things like sit on a cold, wet lawn on purpose to punish himself.

He stares up at the stars and wonders. He wonders if there's anything he could be doing to help his friend, who's out there hunting the remnants of their mortal enemies. His mind tells him no, there's nothing he can do. His heart tells him yes, there is. The conflict inside of him is just one of many.

He wonders if his dead cousin is looking down on him. As he has the thought, he feels a moment of shame that cuts deeper than the perpetual self-disappointment that never leaves him alone. The bottle of scotch becomes unforgotten as he takes two deep swallows to try to cover the feeling.

He wonders what his brother would think of him now, which causes him to take another hiccupping sip. He wonders if his brother would have understood why he did what he did. He wonders what his brother would say to him now, could he but speak, and the tears spill over. Two small tears run down his face, down the familiar tracks of skin on either side of his mouth. He feels ashamed that he's able to cry them, while his brother and cousin lie dead, unable to cry.

The stars start to feel oppressive; they turn from beautiful points of light to the cause of everything bad in his life in an instant. He gets up unsteadily and tries to stumble inside of his house, but falls after two wobbly steps. He lets the scotch spill onto the lawn, and falls asleep with the side of his face pressed into the cold, wet grass. He sees unconsciousness as a mercy he doesn't deserve, but takes it gladly anyway.

The young man's father watches this with a great sadness of his own, and goes outside to carry his boy into the house.

It's all he can do for him.


	39. Angle

**#39 – Angle**

_Jake_

In a rare moment, I realized that I actually had some free time.

I closed my history book, homework finished, and automatically reached into my bag for the next subject. Math, English, Biology…all done. All done? All caught up? No possible way.

Automatically, I started thinking ahead. Was there anything I could do to get ahead for the next time I was too busy for homework? I checked my planner and realized it was actually true – I was finally caught up.

For once, we – I mean the Animorphs – were getting a break. If the Yeerks were working on anything big, I didn't know about it. Neither did the Chee, for that matter – I'd just talked to Erek outside of last period before riding the bus home. With a sense of amazement, I realized I really had some honest-to-God free time in front of me.

I fiddled in the kitchen for a minute, munching a bagel, but I wasn't hungry. I thought about flipping on the tube, but quickly rejected it – there's not much on TV that's even half as exciting as my everyday life. I called Marco, but nobody answered the phone at his place. That was when I spotted my basketball in the corner of the kitchen by the garage door, behind the trashcan and covered with what looked like a solid inch of dust.

I grinned as I scooped it up and went out into the driveway to shoot some hoops. I was rusty, for sure…and that's putting it mildly. I was back up to making about 60% of my free throws when Tom pulled up in my dad's old station wagon.

"Big Jake hits the court again!" he called, good-naturedly enough, but with an edge of that big brother, mocking undertone. He pocketed the car keys and put his hands up, a clear signal for me to pass him the ball.

It was like he'd never quit the team. Power dribbles, posts, pivots, a light touch on three pointers – the guy had it all. I half-heartedly played him in one-on-one, but I wasn't really trying. There was no point in giving it my all…he'd have wiped the court with me, anyway. He had a grin on his face the whole time, and I distractedly wondered if the real Tom was getting any enjoyment at all out of the Yeerk using his body to play the sport he loved.

He passed me the ball behind his back and used his T-shirt to wipe the sweat off of his forehead. "What's that, like a hundred to six?" he asked, jerking his head toward the house. I followed him in and grumbled, 'something like that.'

He reached into the fridge and tossed me a Powerade. "That was cool," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. I know it was the Yeerk that said it, but I just found myself hoping that Tom had liked the game.

He chugged his entire drink, then threw the empty bottle at me. Still grinning, he said, "So since I dominated you so thoroughly, I figure you owe me a favor."

Ugh. Right. Here it comes, I thought.

"I dunno how serious you are with that Cassie girl, but I need help. This girl Amber has been turning me down for like three weeks now. Finally, I got her to agree to go out with me…but only if you'd double with us."

Despite myself, I was a little intrigued by the new angle. I knew where it was heading, but I wanted him to play it out. "Double with who?"

"Her little sister, Grace. I think you know her – she's in your grade. Apparently, she's got a crush on you." Tom made a face, like that was impossible, and I marveled at how totally the Yeerk would have had me fooled, under other circumstances. "I mean, if Amber wasn't mega-hot, I wouldn't even consider this. But she's worth me dragging you along – at least for the first date. What do you say? Help a brother out?"

"Where's the date?" I hedged. I swear, if he said The Sharing, I was going to…

"The Sharing," he said, making another face like he didn't want to do it there. "We're having a movie night on Thursday, and – hey! Where are you going?"

"No, Tom," I called behind me as I went upstairs. "No Sharing. Not now, not ever. Just _no._"

He let me go.


	40. Messages

**#40 – Messages**

_Marco_

Having the very best of everything is pretty good, most of the time. Top-of-the-line, advanced technology is great.

Sometimes, it's also a total pain in the ass.

Take my FITA system, Jeeves. FITA stands for Fully Integrated Technological Assistant. Next year, I'll have the FITRA system Microsoft is developing – basically an upgrade that introduces a robotic assistant to go along with all the computer help. But, for now, any commands Jeeves couldn't handle himself were transmitted to various assistants living in or near my home.

I woke up to the smooth, pleasant voice of my computer assistant. "Master Marco, it is seven AM on Wednesday, October 6th. Your first appointment is across town at eight forty-five; based on your grooming habits, waking up now would be optimal," Jeeves said from his panel in my bedroom wall.

"No," I grunted, rolling over.

Jeeves continued on in a cheery voice as if I hadn't said anything – he was programmed to work with my specific personality in the most efficient possible way. "The steam shower is warming, now. The ambient household temperature is seventy-seven degrees. Despite this, your known sensitivity to cold temperatures first thing in the morning has prompted me to warm the bathroom floor tiles."

That was good news. "All right, then. Your efficiency protocols have warmed both my floor and my heart. I'll get up."

"Thank you, Marco," Jeeves replied. I got out of bed and walked into my steam room, grateful for the noticeably-warm tiles. I nuded up and got in, relaxing on the oaken sauna bench and letting the steam open up my pores.

"How about some music, Jeeves?"

"Certainly, sir." The hidden speakers around the bathroom started playing some hippie music.

"Ugh, Enya?" I complained. "Who put _that _on?"

"You did, sir, after your meeting with Mr. Snoop Dogg. Would you like something else?"

"Yeah, last selection before that." Coldplay began playing over the PA. "Are you kidding me? What have I been _listening _to? Delete my music history – this is embarrassing."

"Deleted, sir. If I might make a suggestion, sir? You now have thirteen unheard messages flagged as priority. Perhaps you could listen to them, now."

"Dammit, Jeeves, this is my relaxing time. Didn't I tell you to stop being so responsible?"

"Indeed you did, sir. I interpreted the request logically and reduced my priority enforcement protocols by 7.8%. That is why I did not remind you about your messages until now, instead of after the tenth ignored priority message."

I grinned. "You know, you remind me of Ax, sometimes."

"As I am 42% Andalite hardware and 16% Andalite programming, that is not a surprising interpretation of my "personality." The messages, sir?"

I sighed. "Hit me with them."

The parade started. "This is Craig Canterwald with SSD Financial. We'd like to speak with you as soon as possible about your investment portfolio – our analysts have come up with a few ways to streamline your capital, and we'd like to hear what you think."

Jeeves waited for my input after the first one. When I didn't give it right away, he said, "Based on past experience and transactions, I recommend you tend to this request personally. Canterwald is…an unknown quality."

I grinned. "You mean he's a money-grubbing snakewhore."

Jeeves processed that for a second. "Shall I save that term in reference to Canterwald?"

"Yeah, add him to the "snakewhore" section. Schedule the meeting, but jam it in between two more important ones so I have an excuse to make it quick."

**Author's Note: **Coming up on the end of these pretty quickly. The last five are "author's choice," but I don't really think that's fair…after all, it's a fanfic 50 challenge, not a fanfic 45 challenge. Anyway, if you have an idea for a one or two-word prompt to be used in the last five, PM it to me. Or, if that's too much trouble…you could always leave suggestions in a review *hint hint*! Thanks again for reading!


	41. Betrayal

**#41 – Betrayal**

_Ax_

One thing that my time on Earth has taught me is this – in order to be betrayed, you must first trust.

Most life-truths I know were learned on Earth. I only spent roughly 15% of my life on the planet, but age is measured in all sorts of ways. The most important way is experience; it feels like everything I've ever learned worth knowing was learned during my time among humans.

My people are already starting to generalize the humans, to strip them down to what they see as their key component. Just like the _simple _Hork-Bajir and the _filthy _Taxxons, Andalites are already starting to talk about the _trusting _humans.

The Andalites doing the talking are sure to include that _we _would never take advantage of that trust. But, perhaps if the humans had been a bit less trusting and a bit more vigilant, the Yeerk invasion would have been impossible.

Perhaps I have been among humans for too long. Perhaps I now see the universe through earth-colored lenses. All I know is that when my friends and I learned there was an Andalite fleet near the place we made our final stand, and those Andalites did not help us, I felt betrayed.

When Prince Jake made his final series of impossible decisions, I was proud. And when _my _people, the people I'd been dying to get back to, came in and tried to diminish our victory and take away the power the humans had fought for, I was embarrassed. When they wanted my friends to give up the Pool Ship they had fought – and died – for, I was ashamed.

Prince Jake impressed me one more time – he stood up to Captain-Prince Asculan-Semitur-Langor aboard the Pool Ship. We, the Animorphs, had done my peoples' work for them. We had won their war. And still, they wanted to treat the humans as inferiors, even though they'd watched with their own eyes how bravely they'd fought. The humans had offered Prince Asculan a non-violent solution to end the Yeerk threat, and he easily and carelessly said no.

Feeling betrayed has an odd effect. It makes you feel like you have nothing left to lose. It makes your hearts hurt, and it makes you want to get rid of that hurt. It forces you to realize who you are and what you stand for. It makes you say things that you'd normally be too afraid to say.

(Captain-Prince Asculan, I hereby declare a challenge.)


	42. College

**#42 – College**

"Oh, hi, Cassie. Come in – yes, shut the door. Thank you for coming."

"Hi, Mrs. Watts. What's this about?"

"I've been assigned your college counselor. I know graduation is still a year and a half away, but I thought I'd explain the process and get everything started. I see that all of your grades are good…great standardized test scores…this should be easier than usual. Do you have a major in mind, dear?"

"A major?"

"Yes. What sort of career do you want? You _do _plan on attending college, don't you?"

"Oh. Yes. Yes, of course. I don't know – probably veterinary medicine, like my folks."

"That's right, your mother takes care of the animals at the zoo. The Gardens, right?"

"Yes, and my father runs the Wildlife Rehabilitation Clinic."

"Oh, yes! He gave that phenomenal presentation to the biology students last year."

"Yeah. Phenomenal."

"Anyway, okay. That seems like a natural choice for you. Your grades and test scores should open some doors for you, but I don't see any community service on your resume."

"Community service…right. Well, I work with my father at the Clinic. It's a non-profit – doesn't that qualify as community service?"

"I don't know, dear, I'll have to look into it. But you may want to consider something more traditional to supplement that. Maybe put in a few hours a week at the Boys and Girls Club. I know The Sharing offers a community service program, complete with academic verification. Our own Vice Principal signs off on it."

"Okay. I'll have to think about it. I'm really busy, right now."

"Community service is vital for scholarships and grants. A lot of students your age are already in the hundreds of hours. The sooner, the better. Should I sign you up for maybe…hmm. Surely you can spare three hours a week at The Sharing? It'll really help your chances."

"I'll think about it, Mrs. Watts. I really will. But I can't commit to anything right now."

"It's for your own future, Cassie. Staying out of community service will only hurt you."

"I _do _community service, a lot of it. Can you…can you just check on the work I do with my dad? I think that should count for something."

"I said I would. I still stand by my interpretation of the situation, though. Just a few hours a week at The Sharing will qualify you for a lot of money for college."

"Wouldn't the Boys and Girls Club do the same thing?"

"Yes."

"Then why…nevermind."

"I only recommend The Sharing over the Boys and Girls Club because of Vice Principal Chapman's involvement. And _my _involvement, too. I've been doing this job for a long time, Cassie, and The Sharing has really helped a lot of bright kids get into good schools."

"I'll think about it; I'll also get documentation from my dad about my work and the Center. He may want to speak with you about the whole thing."

"Sure, sure. Just remember what I told you."

"I'll remember it very well."

**Author's Note: **I tacked the last A/N onto a completed chapter, and I guess everybody read the chapter before I got the A/N up. In case you missed it, the last 5 prompts are "author's choice." That's not really fair, in my eyes…I wanted to do a fanfic 50 challenge, not a 45 challenge. That gives you guys an opportunity, though – let me know what one or two-word prompts you'd like to see me work with. PM me, or even leave it/them in a review. I'd appreciate it, and the sooner I get five of them I can work with, the sooner I'll get this piece done! Thanks again.


	43. Wishes

**#43 – Wishes**

**One year after the Yeerk defeat at Earth**

_Jake_

I stopped for a minute to wipe the sweat out of my eyes. I'd been stomping through the woods behind my house for over an hour, now, looking for the spot where we'd buried it. I was starting to lose hope of ever finding it. I was starting to question why I was even looking for it in the first place. Even if I found it, I'd technically be breaking a promise by digging it up.

Maybe it was because I felt so cut off. Maybe it was because I hadn't had any luck getting Marco on the phone for the past week, even though I knew he was insanely busy and it wasn't his fault. For whatever reason, as soon as I'd remembered it, it somehow became vital that I find it.

I did a double-take as I stumbled into a clearing. There was the stump that looked like a two-headed monster. I looked a little east and immediately spied the second landmark – a broken piece of rusted, wrought-iron fencing. This was definitely the place. As I stared at the place where I'd find it, I had a powerful memory of us burying it. More than a memory – I guess it was more like the flashbacks I sometimes have, when I'm in that place in between sleep and consciousness.

"_**You drug me all the way out here, and you won't even tell me what it is? That's annoying."**_

"_**So what else is new?" Marco joked as he started digging. He grunted until he got about a foot into the ground, then held up the yellow, watertight case he'd lugged out here. "You have to promise me. Dig this up when I die – not a moment earlier. And just you, Jake. Alone."**_

"_**You're not going to die, man."**_

_**He looked at me as if I'd just said something exceedingly stupid, like four plus four is twelve. He put the box in the hole and started to cover it. "Just promise, dude."**_

"_**I promise."**_

"And here I am, breaking that promise," I muttered as I crouched at the spot. Marco had probably forgotten about it in the whirlwind that had happened after the war – I almost had. But maybe not. Maybe he'd already come out to get it.

Curiosity got the better of me. I hadn't brought a shovel, so I dug with my hands. Even though it had been in the ground for the better part of three years, I found it fairly easily. As I pulled it out of the hole, I realized it was heavy. I sat on the two-headed stump and popped the latches on the case.

The first sheet of paper I pulled out was a fake will in which Marco left almost all of his personal belongings to me. The second document was real.

_Jake,_

_What's up? God, that sounds corny for a deathnote, haha. Anyway, I'm sure you figured out that the first will is for you to show everybody else. I'm not leaving _everything _to you. I guess you're more of a…oh, what do you call them? Executionors? Executors? Yeah, I think I'm trying to say that you're the executor of my will. The real one, here. This one._

_You can pick over my CDs and take the ones you want, but I want whichever ones you don't take to go to Ax. He's sadly deprived of rock music, and I'm going to do something about it…even if it's in death. Actually, in death is probably the only way I'll talk him into jamming to some Bush or Green Day. Make it happen._

_In my book collection, there are a couple random ones I want Rachel to have. Make sure she gets my copy of The Art of War – I wrote her a little note in the back. Nothing obvious…just some masterfully coded last words for my little warrior princess. The second one I want her to have is my abridged version of Wuthering Heights. I think she'll get a kick out of the weird ass love story in it._

_Cassie's is already in here. I made it on a Saturday when we didn't have anything to do. I know how into animals she is, and at the time this was written, the Silverback Gorilla is endangered. So are humans, but we'll stick with the gorillas, for Cassie's sake. She'll get a kick out of this._

_I don't really know what to leave Tobias – he was weird before he got stuck as a bird, and he's even weirder now. Don't tell him I said that. But, if you find something you think he'll like out of all the crap I left you…give it to him._

_Well, that's it. The coin collection in this box is for you – it's actually worth something. Pawn it or whatever. Fatten up that war treasury. I don't care – I'm dead. Do whatever you want with it._

_Anyway, bud, I hope to God if you're reading this that I was the only one to get myself killed. I know I complain a lot, but I really do respect and care about you guys. You, especially. Here's the part where I admit my undying love for you, my secret man-crush…you wish! Nah, but seriously, dude…thanks for always being there. Thanks for being my boy, and thanks for keeping me alive for as long as you could. Don't blame yourself – it was only a matter of time before the Yeerks saw my good looks and charm as a threat they couldn't ignore anymore and picked me off._

_Marco_

As I finished the letter, I wiped away tears that I didn't remember crying. I saw the audio tape labeled '_Insights into the mind of the Silverback Gorilla – For Cassie._' When had we buried this case? Three years ago?

Felt like three hundred.


	44. Value

**#44 – Value**

_Cassie_

Value is relative. I used to think that all life is sacred. I might still believe that, but I've seen a lot of things that have made me reevaluate that viewpoint.

I was flying. Usually, shedding my clumsy human body and taking to the sky is just about the most mood-elevating thing. Forget Prozac. Letting a thermal take you over a mile into the sky and floating above the whole world is a great way to forget your problems.

I don't know if I was just getting used to it, or if the incident this afternoon had bothered me that deeply…one way or another, flying just wasn't cutting it for me. It wasn't easing the strange combination of rage and pity that wouldn't leave me be.

(Cassie?) That was Jake. I'd spotted him a hundred yards below me and off to my right a couple of minutes ago, in his peregrine morph. I hadn't thought about it, but now that I was, I remembered that we were supposed to meet to do homework. I should have known he'd come looking for me, and we had just had a talk about morphing for personal reasons the week before.

I sighed. (Yeah, it's me. I'm sorry.)

His thought-speech "sounded" confused. (What for?)

(You know – for morphing when it's not necessary. I just had…a rough day.)

(Well, why don't you tell me what happened? Then I can help you decide whether it was necessary to morph or not.)

(I don't want to talk about it,) I said, and I really didn't. I hoped Jake would let it go…but a part of me wanted him to ask. To show that he cared. To offset the jerk who had upset me.

He was quiet for a minute, then said, (When you don't want to talk about something is usually when you need to the most. What happened?)

I would have smiled. He'd listened. I'd told him the exact same thing two weeks ago when he was upset about Tom and didn't want to talk about it.

(It's nothing. I bumped into some guy when I was getting off the bus. He called me a name. I shouldn't have let it upset me.)

(Who was it?) His voice was still calm, but with an edge, now.

(Nobody. I don't know. Just some random person.)

He thought about that. (What did he call you?) in that same, almost-emotionless tone he used when he was getting ready to get really upset.

(It's not important.)

(I think it might be. Just tell me.)

(He…he called me the "N" word. Like I said, just some ignorant nobody. I shouldn't have let it get to me.)

Jake didn't say anything for a minute. When he finally spoke, he was seething. (Its crap like this that makes me want to quit. People aren't even worth it. I'm so, so sorry, Cassie.)

(No, Jake. Don't think like that. For every person who isn't worth it…no, that's not even right. _Everybody's _worth saving. If we don't save them, they'll never get the chance to learn. To grow. That guy's mom and dad might be controllers, and maybe he has nowhere else to direct his anger. I know it wasn't personal.)

(Still…)

I would have smiled again – somehow, roles had reversed and I was the one calming Jake down. (Let's go study.) I turned for home. (Everybody is worth saving. Life is valuable.)

(Even the life of an ignorant racist?)

(Even them – maybe _especially _them. We'll give them the chance to change. What they do with that chance is between them and God.)


	45. Break

**#45 – Break**

_Marco_

Look, I know my life is beyond weird. You've heard me tell enough of these stories to know that. But every now and then, something happens that's bizarre, even to me.

P.E. Not my greatest subject – I'm too damn short and small to play basketball or any sport requiring great physical prowess. But this week was an exception to my usually lame attempts to "participate" – we were playing soccer.

I don't get tired easily – the benefits of getting a pair of unsoiled lungs each and every time I morph. I have great reflexes – battle after battle will do that for you. I see angles. I see passes. I can get myself into position to get the ball and score easily, given I've got someone on my team with the skill to get me the ball. Did I mention my superior foot-eye coordination?

My team was up something like ten to one, and eight of the goals were mine. There was like five minutes left before the whistle, and I'd resolved to score ten. Sure, it was a pointless P.E. soccer game…but I lose a lot in real life. It's good to win, and win big.

This kid on the other team, Greg, was getting humiliated by me. He was playing defense, and he was actually on the school team. I was really making him look bad. Like, putting the ball through his legs and going around him to score, bad.

I caught a pass, and the only thing between me and goal number nine was Greg. I surged forward with the ball and grinned, already seeing the ways I could juke him out of his shorts. The only thing I _didn't _take seriously was the look on his face – I got cocky. I ignored his look of shame and anger and purely being fed up with being made a fool of.

I juked left. Cut right. Would have worked, if Greg was playing the ball – which he wasn't. He'd decided to give me a full-on hip check, like a hockey player going to the boards. I was totally not ready for it, and as his body (a good thirty pounds heavier than mine) made contact, I flew up and sideways.

'_This is gonna suck,_' I thought to myself as I spiraled through the air. Lost sight of the ground. Landed heavily on my left arm. I felt and heard the bones in my wrist snap before I felt the pain.

A million thoughts ran through my head as I bounced and settled on the ground with my arm at a really weird angle. '_Gotta get out of here. Got to morph before anybody realizes my arm broke. Can't wear a cast, can't be the Miraculous Healing Boy. Gotta…_'

My mind stopped as the pain caught up with me. I screamed a really, really nasty word – totally involuntary. I instinctively fought the urge to roll over and cradle the wounded limb to my chest. I got up, trying to shield the damage from sight with my uninjured arm, and ran for the locker rooms.

"Marco, you okay?"

"What's up with his arm? Ew, is it broken?"

"Look at that thing! Where is he going?"

I didn't stop. "It's not broken, just sprained!" I yelled behind me as I hit the locker room door. Luckily, the shower stalls were empty. I slammed the door on the stall with the broken showerhead. I morphed to lobster – the first thing that flashed into my pain-wracked brain – and just as quickly, demorphed. I was just losing the last of my whiskers when the teams filed into the locker room. I showed off my arm – now fine – and told everybody how it hurt, but was fine.

It's a weird-ass world when a simple broken arm can get you killed.

**A/N – Now I'm to the reader-submitted prompts! I've got a couple I can use – the people who suggested them getting full credit along with my thanks, of course – but I could still use a couple more. If you're reading this, you've already been through 45 of these with me…you know what kinds of words I'm looking for to round out this challenge. As always, thank you if you take the time to help and/or review!**


	46. Myth

**A/N – **Thank you to Sweetbriar for the following prompt. I've only got three of the five I need…so help me out! If they come from me, it's not really a "challenge fic." Seriously, just spitball stuff at me. Thanks again, Sweetbriar!

**#46 – Myth**

_Tobias_

My understanding of the definition of a myth is something like this – a story based in fact, but changed over time to sound more heroic and honorable. It gets to the point where nobody with a brain in their head even believes the story anymore. But the thing is, most myths or legends are based in fact, like I said. I always wonder about the truth behind them…because there has to be _some _truth, right?

I think if we somehow survive this invasion and people are still around in a hundred years, Jake'll be a mythical guy. We talked about it once, late one night.

Jake had snuck me in through his bedroom window; not tough, not risky, by itself. But he also insisted that I morph to human and enjoy some luxuries I don't get in my meadow.

Soda, with ice. Popcorn. Pixie Stix. Pepperoni pizza. Ax would have lost his mind, which is why Jake didn't invite him. He couldn't get busted with a kid who was missing and presumed dead in his room. It was too risky to have me in human morph in his house, even with the door locked…but Jake seems to always know which risks are okay to take at the right times.

We were watching a movie. I wasn't really paying attention – the taste of cold soda was almost as overwhelming for me as it would have been for Ax. But Jake was, and his rapt attention on the TV made me start to pay attention.

Wyatt Earp. Jake watched like he was going to be quizzed on it later, and I realized that he was doing exactly what it looked like – studying. Taking notes. Committing to memory how this hard-nosed lawman dealt with his problems.

I couldn't stay quiet about it, though my comment _was _quiet. "Jake, you know this isn't real, right? Please don't think you can help our cause by being like this guy. He's not even real."

He pulled his attention away from the movie long enough to grin at me. "The _movie _isn't real. The guy was. He wasn't perfect, but he didn't stand for this gang who rolled into the town he was protecting, thinking they were going to take over. He was outmatched, outmanned – but he won. And he did it because he knew that letting fear win would doom everybody."

I watched the movie in silence for a minute before making one last comment. "Bet he was scared, anyway. Not this joker playing him in the movie – the real guy."

Jake looked surprised, like I was a little slow or something. "Of _course _he was scared – that's the best part of the whole movie. He did what he had to do in spite of being scared peeless."

When you model yourself after people like that and act on it, and the situation is right, I guess you're destined to be a mythical being. And that's why I think Jake will be a household name in a hundred years.


	47. Sketchbook

**A/N – **Thanks to Chiroptera Jones for the following prompt! Still searching for the last two; any and all suggestions are appreciated, even if they're not used! Thanks again, Chiro.

**#47 – Sketchbook**

_Tobias_

"Seriously, man, all you do is complain. Why don't you just take your butt to Erek's house? The Chee have had millennia of practice putting up with annoying people. The Hork-Bajir like you for some reason; go hang out with them."

Marco leaned back in the La-Z-Boy he'd rescued from a nearby dumpster and dragged back to Ax's scoop. He sneered at Rachel and noisily crunched another Dorito out of the bag she'd brought, purposely chewing with his mouth open. She looked at me, then Ax. When she saw that neither of us were going to jump into the argument and take her side, she threw up her hands.

"I don't get it. I don't get how you two can put up with him," she complained.

(Lots and lots of practice,) I said in thought-speech everyone could hear – including Marco. (Fleas annoy me, too, but after a while you learn how to shut out the things that make you want to scream.)

"Ha! You have fleas!" Marco pointed at me, and I would have rolled my eyes.

(I, too, am intermittently bothered by Earth parasites,) Ax said distractedly, not realizing that we were having another pointless argument. He didn't look up from the pad he was sketching on as he said, (Rachel, would you mention to Prince Jake that we could use some more of the special chemical compound?)

Rachel looked at me, confused, and I laughed. (He means the Advantix. He's been dipping into Homer's supply to keep us parasite-free.)

Marco had looked at Ax to make a joke about the flea medicine, and he noticed what Ax was doing. "Hey, Ax, I didn't know you did artwork. Can I see?"

(It is not art,) he said, still sketching and scribbling on his notebook paper. (Since I do not have the technology available for a _Hirac Delest, _I am doing what the ancient Andalites did and making a _Dalum Dilest._)

"A dalum-what?" Rachel asked.

(A _Dalum Dilest._ Not that it will ever get back to my people in the event of my death – it's just something I'm doing to ease my mind.)

(What is it?) I asked, a little fascinated. I always liked learning about Andalite culture; after all, it was sort of my culture, too.

Ax spared a stalk eye to look at me, to show me he was giving me some of his attention. (You humans would call it a dead-letter, but it is more than that. It tells my life's story, but it also tells of my dreams and my ambitions. It tells of my mistakes, and what I learned from them.) He showed me the page he was working on.

It wasn't writing – it was much more beautiful than words on a page. Sure, there were characters that were probably Andalite letters, but they were beautifully intermingled with crude (but fantastic) drawings and symbols. Some of it was barely visible, he'd touched pencil to paper so lightly. Some was blocky and blackened heavily. I couldn't read it, but it spoke to me all the same.

Marco and Rachel were crowded around it, both looking a little in awe. Ax quickly drooped his stalk eyes in a gesture of embarrassment and closed the cover. (As I said, it's nothing.)

"It's awesome," Rachel disagreed.

"Hell of a sketchbook, my man," Marco agreed with her.

Privately, to Ax, I said, (When you're done, maybe we can put it in Jake's dad's fireproof safe, along with that broken Z-space transponder you have in your desk. That'll give it a good chance of surviving, and if your people come…after…maybe the Yeerk technology in the safe will lead them to it.)

He didn't answer. But his stalk eyes perked up a bit, and I knew the thought had cheered him.


	48. Equity

**#48 – Equity**

_Jake_

"…with all due respect to this court, this witness is a mass murderer. A war criminal."

The prosecutor said something. I didn't even hear it. The judge said something. I didn't hear that, either. But when the Visser's lawyer spoke up with a smirk, I heard that.

"Apparently the witness is having some difficulty." She was right. I was locking up. I knew it, and couldn't stop it.

"The witness is disconcerted by this unjustified and vicious assault!" the lead prosecutor exclaimed heatedly. I was so shaken, I barely heard the Chilean judge, the president of the council trying the Visser, order the two lawyers to approach his bench.

I was seated right beside the judges in the witness' box, so I heard it all. Vaguely, like in a dream. I was still rocked from the implication that I was a war criminal. Not because I didn't believe it – simply because I hadn't heard anyone come out and say it, until now.

The lawyers stopped in front of me; the prosecutor looked professionally outraged, the defense attorney – the one who'd alleged I should be put in the same category as Visser One – looked a little embarrassed, like she knew she was about to get the scolding she'd earned.

"Your Honor, not only is this objection ridiculously uncalled-for, it's an argumentative and unjust attack on the witness' character!" the prosecutor all but snarled. The judge raised a hand and looked the defense attorney in the eye.

"I agree with your counterpart," he told the defense lawyer gravely. "You have absolutely no right to compare _anything _this young man did to the alleged crimes of your client. Common sense tells us that; your client was the aggressor in this case -"

"_Alleged _aggressor," the defense lawyer said out of instinct. She immediately flinched after she said it, sensing she'd picked the wrong time to provoke the person in charge of her client's fate.

The Chilean judge gave her a cold, hard stare. "Documented testimony supports the evidence – the witness' actions were purely in the defense of his own life and the lives of his people. To suggest synonymy between the two is not only stupid, it insults the integrity and the equity of this court. I will give you this opportunity to withdraw your objection."

The woman set her mouth into a hard, stubborn line. "I will not withdraw."

"Then you are overruled," the judge said stonily. "One more objection of that nature and you'll be held in contempt of this court. Understood?"

The lawyers returned to their respective benches – all of that having passed with me hearing it, but not caring.

Because sometimes, even if the objection is ridiculous, unfounded, and unreasonable, there's some truth to it. And because, while the equity of the court might have remained intact, that stuff goes out the window when thinking, breathing beings have died at your hands.

**A/N – **Another thank you to Sweetbriar for that prompt. Now I'm clean out of prompts – if one of the dozens reading and not reviewing would care to be so kind as to throw me a bone and make a suggestion – even in a *gasp* review! – I would be eternally grateful. Thanks!


	49. Salt

**#49 – Salt**

_Marco_

I watched my dad turn the salt shaker upside-down and pour the crap all over his slices of the microwave pizza we were sharing. I mean, the food wasn't great, but did he have to put that much? And he kept going. Finally, disgusted, I said, "Dad, you planning on tasting the pizza? Because if you keep that up, you might as well just get a spoon and eat the salt."

He misunderstood. He looked a little sheepish and held the salt shaker out to me. "Sorry. You want?"

"No!" My reaction surprised even me. My dad gave me a look, like _what is your problem?_ Then he went straight back to shaking salt all over his food.

What _was _my problem? Since when did salt make me react like that? I mean, I didn't mind the taste…all the same, I realized I hadn't reached for the salt in a long time. As a matter of fact, since…

I lost my appetite all of a sudden. I picked up my paper plate with my pizza slice on it and told my dad, "Hey, I just remembered – homework. I'm going to eat in my room while I work on it." My dad shrugged; he was probably glad that he'd get to watch TV while he ate instead of pretending to have a "family" dinner.

I got into my bedroom and shut the door. I flipped the pizza into the wastebasket and flopped onto my bed. Now that I was alone, I let myself remember.

Me, Jake, and Tom. Jake and I were about six, Tom was maybe nine. He had a big garden slug on a saucer in his left hand and his mom's salt shaker in his right. "Now, watch," he commanded, and salted the slug.

I remembered how the poor creature had squirmed and oozed and bubbled and shrunk. It was terrible, but I remembered staying silent because I didn't want Tom to think I was a wuss. '_Fine, kill the thing if you have to. But don't _torture _it!_' I'd thought to myself.

My issues with salt went back that far. How ironic was that? I didn't eat salt because of what Tom did to a slug when I was a kid. Now Tom _was _the slug. Now _I _was the salt.

Ridiculous.

**A/N – **Thanks, Chiroptera! Appreciate you taking the time to help, as always.


	50. Last Night

**#50 – Last Night**

_Tobias_

Looking in the mirror was the final straw that almost made me lose it.

I'd raised my arms until the dress jacket has restrained me, and I was okay. A hawk would have freaked out at being restricted in that way.

I noticed how I'd have to walk all stiff-legged to keep the creases in my dress pants. Running in the slick-bottomed dress loafers would have been damn near impossible. I was okay with all that – seriously.

But when I looked in the mirror and saw some stranger dressed to the nines, I almost freaked. Hair brushed? I could live with that. But the shiny, silken red tie around my neck looked every bit as much like a noose as it felt. That was what did it. I turned to Jake, and my reflection in the mirror looked terrified. "Dude, I don't want to do this."

Jake looked back at me from where he'd been trying to de-tangle his own mop of hair. He looked patient as he disdainfully flipped the lapel of his dress jacket and said, "I know. Me neither."

"You don't get it. I'm not _going _to do this. Not even for Rachel."

He sighed, sat on his bed, and motioned me to sit across from him in his computer chair. I did, and he sat there for a minute, thinking. Finally, he said, "We have to. You're not stupid – you understand what's going on. The stuff is about to hit the fan. Marco's already had to run. It's only a matter of time until we're _all_ on the run. The gloves are coming off. This is about to turn into the nasty fight we always knew it would come down to. Can't you feel that?"

I _could_. Lately, the tension had been palpable. It had gotten really real when Marco showed up at Ax's scoop, looking for shelter. He was officially dead, as far as the rest of the world was concerned. Half of our fighting force was holed up in the woods, hiding from the Yeerks. Jake was right – it was only a matter of time before the act of normalcy would come to an end for himself, Cassie, and Rachel. Maybe not as abruptly as it had come for Marco; the fighting might just get so hot and heavy that they wouldn't have time to act normal anymore. The war we'd been fighting for three years had come to the tipping point – it was going to be us or them writing the history books, and it was going to be soon.

Jake waited for me to process it, then said, "This is going to be our last chance to make those two girls in the other room feel like girlfriends. It's our last night to give them something normal. We won't get another chance…and if we do, it won't be the same. We owe it to them."

I swallowed hard and nodded. I didn't like it, but he made a good point. Just then, the door to his bedroom opened and Rachel walked in with Cassie.

Cassie looked really pretty, but I barely noticed her. I only had eyes for Rachel. Her hair was intricately braided through with little silken flowers. Her dress fit perfectly, and was the same shimmery red as my necktie. The blue of her eyes clashed violently with the red of the dress, but in a way that made both stand out. She saw me studying her, committing this picture to memory, and she smiled. "You look great!" Still smiling, she extended her hand toward me. "Are you ready?"

I was. I took her hand.

**A/N – **Thank you, Sweetbriar, for the final prompt! I thought it was fitting, since the whole thing started with 'first kiss.' Anyway, I've really enjoyed writing all of these and hearing what you all had to say about them! Too many good, faithful reviewers to list without risking leaving someone out, but you know who you are, and I hope you know I appreciate it. I may start a new prompt challenge soon; hopefully, if I do, I'll see all of you over there to get your wonderful thoughts and insights. Thanks again for making this project so much fun!

-Shane


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